


Shock Therapy

by sharkie



Series: Across the Stars [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: AU as a plot device?, Cultural Differences, Evolving Tags, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kink Meme, Mild Hurt/Comfort, everyone is light side and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/pseuds/sharkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sith Warrior has a thing for Vette. He also has a thing for pain.  Vette has a thing for the Sith Warrior. She also has a host of unresolved fears. Through the course of one year, everything intersects. Eventually a fill for two (old) SWTOR kink meme prompts. Spoilers mainly for the Warrior storyline, with some of the Inquisitor's and Smuggler's.</p><p>  <b>[On indefinite hiatus]</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Click

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note, 31st May 2017** : Original version uploaded [ here ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B09vWjZsBOF6eXA1bWhXd0VUb2M/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> **Original A/N** : This started out written for these two prompts on the kink meme:
> 
> "After you get married to Vette, she brings out the ol' shock collar for your honeymoon. So I want a happily married Sith Warrior and Vette having fun, happy, kinky, entirely consensual sexy-fun-times together with it. Also, the SW has to end up wearing the collar at some point. And enjoying it."
> 
> "The Sith Warrior and Vette being fluffy. The Sith Inquisitor providing sarcastic commentary would be a nice bonus." 
> 
> Although along the way it evolved into something much longer. 
> 
> Basically, this is a simple reconstruction of the whole Love Redeems trope. Like Disney's Beauty and the Beast in the Star Wars universe, where the Beauty is an irreverent Twi'lek thief and the Beast is a Sith Pureblood with a latent sense of humour. Be warned that there's some power play, both fully consensual and dub-con fantasy, plus possible triggers regarding Vette's past. And discussed Stockholm Syndrome. And the Sith Warrior trying to be a manipulative bastard but failing horribly. Extensive liberty taken place with both Sith Pureblood and Twi'lek cultures.

Cehirse spent the shuttle ride to the Fleet on his datapad, entering Vette's details into the Imperial slave databases. Vette attempted to make conversation as he worked. After some concentration he was able to tune her out into a form of white noise. 

'Vette' wasn't a Twi'lek name, but he had no way of knowing that; a quick HoloNet search turned up arrest warrants and citations on multiple Hutt-space worlds, accompanied by mugshots of Vette, usually sticking her tongue out. He filled the blank for defining features with a succinct 'chatty'. When it came to ticking boxes for intended usage, he hesitated, then selected only 'combat', forgoing 'entertainment' -  the latter could be interpreted badly, and, inexplicably, the thought didn't appeal to him. The incessant talking must have been a turn off, he reasoned. 

* * *

Surprisingly, Vaiken Spacedock was a blur of activity. Vette's first and only impression of the Empire had been the ruins of Korriban, ancient and dark and generally foreboding. She hadn't thought the Empire was capable of using colours other than red, brown, and black; or listening to music; or appearing happy. In addition to the standard Imperial Troopers and Sith, there were plenty of aliens around, too. And only some of them were collared! She and Cehirse took seats at the cantina. He ordered water for both of them. Vette sniffed hers, suspiciously, before drinking. 

“This will be interesting,” Cehirse commented, out of nowhere. The Sith hadn’t said a word to her for over an hour; Vette couldn’t even tell if he’d heard her anxious, continuous commentary upon entering the shuttle to leave Korriban. “I’ve never had a personal slave before.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Vette looked highly offended.

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said, amicably. “It’s just a term.”

“If I could shake my head right now, I would.”

“You can’t shake your head?”

“Helloooo, shock collar.” Vette rubbed at her neck as if she wasn’t used to wearing one. “You think you might wanna take it off? You know, as a reward for my hard work on Korriban. Not that I don’t enjoy the perpetual fear of electrocution!”

Cehirse stared at her contemplatively for a distressingly long amount of time.

“No slave has ever been bold enough to request such a thing,” he finally said, in an almost amazed tone. Vette let herself breathe a small sigh of relief. 

“Stick around and you’ll see what else us slaves are capable of getting up to. I mean, besides subversive activities, like rebellions and stuff. Your lordy...Lordship.”

“You’ve earned it, I suppose. But it isn’t freedom,” he added, eyes glinting dangerously.

“I get it. I’m not about to look a gift-Sith in the mouth." Cehirse stood. He knelt behind Vette - tasted her fear in the Force, inspiring terror could never get old - and pressed the release button. "I just feel stupid for not asking sooner." 

“Your neck is so small,” he noted, absently, less out of malice than habit. There was the sickening sound of prongs unlatching from her skin, a loud click, and the collar dropped into his hands. “It looks extremely easy to snap.”

Vette gulped. “I’ll try not to give you reason to.”

“See that you don’t.” She breathed a deeper sigh of relief when the Sith returned to his seat, holding the collar. Vette squared her shoulders experimentally. Cehirse examined the collar for a few seconds; it occurred to Vette that he'd probably never had to hold one before. "Remember, though, that neither the collar nor your slavery were personally my idea in the first place."

"I hear ya. Just another day in the life of the Empire, huh? And you're different, somehow," Vette continued, trying and failing to hide the sarcastic edge in her voice, "because based on what I've seen, you probably prefer eating slaves to keeping them."

Cehirse frowned at her. “Mind your tongue." And then: "Am I so scary?”

“Oh, yeah,” Vette confirmed, through nervous laughter. “Sorry, but...ab-solute-ly _terrifying_. You just talked about snapping my neck while a few inches away from said neck.”

“All right. Your neck would likely be difficult to snap by the bare hands of the average humanoid, Vette, and the shock collar would provide extra protection should I ever decide to put it back on to silence your seemingly uncontrollable mouth.” Cehirse patted her hand in a mock comforting gesture; she recoiled from the unexpected contact. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Weirdly, no, not really.” Vette leaned back with a casual air and looked around the cantina. Cehirse didn’t have to use the Force to know that she was wondering if and how she could make a run for it; he pinpointed the exact moment when she decided that she couldn’t, her shoulders slumping, her body easing into defeat. “Well, I’m not imprisoned or collared,” she told herself, aloud, “and it’s sort of miserable weather out, so I guess we should...uh. What happens now?”

“I lead, you follow,” Cehirse replied flatly, after very little deliberation. “You will remain with me and help me achieve my goals.”

“Fantastic! Glad you could open up. We should do this again sometime.”

Cehirse tried to reach into Vette's mind for personal information (phobias, insecurities, taboo kinks) while her guard was still down, or at least as down as it would ever be when she was near him. Immediately, he found himself being shoved out - as if her brain was already at _full capacity_ - which had never happened before when he'd probed the thoughts of other non-Force-sensitive humanoids.

One of the many recurring annoyances of Cehirse's life so far was the way people tended to assume that he couldn't possibly be intelligent. It dawned on him that the same could apply to the rest of the galaxy, including slaves; this realisation was liberating, as well as vaguely disturbing. He looked down at the shock collar and couldn't explain what he felt. 

“Wait, take this.” As they stood to leave, the Sith slid the open shock collar onto the table in front of Vette. She tilted her head quizzically, painted eyebrows raised. “When I betrayed and killed my first master, I kept the signet ring from his severed hand, ensuring that I would remember my victory.”

“Ewww. Is that what that drama with the girl in the Academy was about? Kinda hard to forget, if you ask me." 

“I didn't." Cehirse glared at Vette briefly. "Anyway, I suggest that you bring the collar with you during our travels, as a reminder of how you triumphed over your physical confinement.”

“And here I thought Sith weren’t sentimental." Vette managed a wry smile. "What with the backstabbing and murder and all.”

Still, she kept it. And he kept the remote.


	2. Small and Sorry

Blue. The colour of the sky on worlds untainted by dark side rituals or centuries of pollution, or so he’d heard. That was the first thing he’d noticed about Vette; her smooth, alien skin, although the animal sounds she’d been making to taunt the jailer were also hard to ignore. Then he’d finished his task and, admittedly, forgotten about her.

Of course, she’d probably watched as he dealt with the prisoners. Perfectly, Overseer Tremel would say later: never dispose of what may be useful or exploited, never keep what’s been depleted of discernible worth. It was his entire childhood condensed into less than ten minutes. He had no idea that the entire rest of his life was in that cage, antagonizing the prison staff - “the key to your destiny: a small and sorry creature, to be molded, if you desire,” Overseer Ragate had prophesied, neglecting to mention that said creature was a pretty, mouthy twi’lek.

“She’s a pain in the neck,” the jailer said, which was probably a better description.

“Hah! Who’s the pain in the neck? _I’m_ the one wearing the shock collar,” Vette joked - her way of acknowledging Cehirse-siqsa's presence for the first time. 

"Heh. Consider that a going-away present," the jailer said. "Seems you may be useful for something after all. This bruiser's taking you into the tomb where we caught you." 

“You got some business in that secret Sith chamber, do you?” she asked Cehirse, casually, as if she was not speaking to a Sith whom she’d previously witnessed Force choking a man to death and sending another for more torture. He crossed his arms and glared at her.

“My business is none of yours.”

“Fine. Sheesh."

The jailer turned up the intensity on the shock collar’s remote, told him the slave would break if he used it often enough. She pretended to look around in disinterest, though Cehirse could sense her fear rolling off her in infrequent waves, marked by disbelief and anger. It felt foreign to him, unusually intoxicating, like smelling fresh blood for the first time. 

"So we’re clear, I’m officially on strike when it comes to domestic duties,” the Twi'lek added. He bristled - slaves were not to demand things of their betters.

“You will do everything I require. And I mean _everything_.” The Sith placed extra venom upon the last word, expecting the mere implication to cow the slave into obedience. Instead, Vette merely wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Don’t get any twisted ideas in that Sithy head of yours.” 

* * *

 "Shut  _up_ ," Cehirse said, after Vette cheerfully exclaimed 'Boom!' for the sixteenth time in an hour when throwing a thermal grenade into a group of enemies. 

They'd fallen into a good attack pattern: he'd jump to an enemy, smash the ground, mow through them as Vette attacked from a distance. For her size and demeanor, her blaster shots plowed through their enemies surprisingly hard, like a speeding...speeder. He considered himself fortunate that the person who could unlock the cavern was also a capable fighter. The Twi’lek, for her part, was clearly making an effort not to talk back. Much. 

"What? You don't like sound effects?" she asked. She frowned as if she couldn't grasp the concept of someone not enjoying her constant noise. 

"The grenade already goes boom when it explodes," he pointed out, testily, "you don't need to add your own."

"It makes more of a 'psshooom', like a falling missile. Seems unrealistic to me. No oomph." The Sith Pureblood rolled his eyes. "Don't believe me? I should detonate one right now so you can hear."

"I could activate your collar," he replied sourly.

"You could. But will you?" Against his first instinct, Cehirse didn't. "Hey!" Vette stopped in her tracks to scan the area. "Wait a sec. The forbidden cavern is somewhere here."

"Are you certain? This room looks like all the others we've been through."

"Yeah, positive. Just lemme get my bearings." 

Cehirse watched Vette paw at their surroundings for a short time, mildly fascinated. Growing up, there had been many Twi'lek slaves in his household, but none his age, and he'd never been allowed to speak to them much. He wondered how he was supposed to shape her as he pleased; she seemed concrete in who she was, plus smarter than she looked. His attempt to mind-trick her into obedience had failed miserably earlier on, ended with Vette staring at him blankly then wiggling her fingers in his face and saying, "You  _will_ stop assuming I'm an idiot." It would be a challenge breaking her the way he'd promised Baras, he reflected. He _liked_ challenges. 

Then he kicked out behind him and caught Vemrin right in the face.

"Take your time, slave," Vemrin spat, beginning to pick himself off the floor, "just have it open for me by the time I kill your master."

"Oh, good. My old friend Vemrin. We were getting lonely _."_ Cehirse withdrew his warblade and motioned for Vette to join him. She obeyed, grumbling about the interruption. "You forget your station, fool. Don't speak like that to the Twi'lek; she is as much of a servant to the Empire as you are. Maybe even more, because she's not disobeying the direct orders of a Sith Lord." 

"Uh, thanks, I think," Vette said.

"Shut up."

"Join me, slave," Vemrin offered, extending a hand towards her, "help me kill my rival and retrieve the lightsaber, and I guarantee your life and freedom once I'm Baras' apprentice."

"He will use you, then abandon you to your fate," Cehirse told her, before she could reply, "he is a single-minded, unresourceful brute, so blindly eager to liberate himself from the chains of his past that he ignores the chains of those around him and the nature of the chains of privilege he wishes to wrap around himself. What about Drogis, Vemrin? What did you promise him before he tried and failed to kill me?" His question went unanswered.

"I feel like I walked into a real lovers' spat here," Vette sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna betray you. Better the evil you know, or the evil-you've-known-hours-longer, or something. Can we beat this guy so we can leave?" She peered at Vemrin closer. "I don't even know his name. What did you say it was, 'vermin'?"

" _Vemrin_!" Vemrin shouted, "my name is Vemrin, and my legacy has suffered for too long! My passions run deeper than yours, Pureblood. I will defeat you here, and you will be forgotten!"

Warblades clashed. Vette ducked behind a pillar and sniped at Vemrin as he and Cehirse dueled. The Pureblood tempered his rage perfectly, honed it down to pinpoint precision; every snide insinuation that he was a spoiled brat, every bracing encounter with Baras, Overseer Tremel's face when he'd called him an elitist snob for looking down on Vemrin. Cehirse didn't look down on Vemrin - he  _hated_ him, not for being lower in status or half-blooded, but for believing that he was better entitled to be Sith because his circumstances had been less ideal. The Force didn't owe anyone. 

Vemrin fought wildly alongside his passion instead of wielding it as a weapon. It was ultimately his undoing. His slashes turned sloppy and erratic, while Cehirse maintained his form, whirled and flourished as Vemrin pushed an exhausting frontal assault. Vemrin often forgot to parry Vette's shots - a particularly good one glanced the side of his head when he turned his back to her; he screamed in anger and nearly overwhelmed Cehirse in his frenzy, when Vette threw her last thermal grenade, forcing them to temporarily disengage. 

"Boom," she whispered. The Pureblood paused ever-so-briefly to glare at her before resuming his attack. 

* * *

 "Was it all for nothing?" Vemrin asked himself, brokenly. Cehirse had no patience for introspection, even in dying moments. Especially in dying moments. 

"You're wasting your time. Now die." He kicked Vemrin into a submissive position on his knees, then dealt the killing blow. The Warrior reveled in the satisfaction of his most difficult victory so far, let his enemy's warm blood coat his hands - until he heard Vette approaching. He sensed her uneasiness and a hint of disapproval. _Disapproval? Over Vemrin?_   It dampened his mood ever-so-slightly. 

"Wow. Nice work. Hope you don't expect me to mop up." 

“Just find the forbidden cavern,” he commanded through gritted teeth.

“I already have. See? The secret entrance is right here." Warily, Cehirse followed her to one of the walls. Vette felt her way on it and pushed a panel; the room began to shake violently, two ancient statues shifting and parting to reveal the secret entrance. Vette stood by the whole time, hands planted pointedly on her hips.

As soon as the final stone clicked into place, she had the audacity to prompt him: "Uh, you're welcome?"

“You’ve been most helpful,” he said sincerely. Her expression softened.

“It’s nice to be acknowledged. Thanks.”

“Yes, well, don’t get too used to it.” The Sith brushed past her. She remained at the doorway, seething. When he’d acquired the ancient lightsaber and inadvertently awoken Naga Sadow’s shadow servants, Vette allowed him to get smacked around a bit before jumping into the fight.

* * *

One fight with a group of acolytes later, they arrived safely back at Baras' office. Cehirse was disturbingly excited when he recounted how he’d defeated Vemrin, in graphic, loving detail, and how he’d left his entrails splashed all over the tomb’s floor, etcetera. Vette tried to distract herself by examining Baras' mask. The expression was sort of like a baby's, she thought. A Sithy, metal, evil baby. 

"I am your humble servant, Master," Cehirse said, "I bow before you." He did just that. Vette groaned internally. For all their lightsaber-swinging and Force-choking, the Sith sure did enjoy mindless flattery. Baras went on about the usual, something something dark side, striking fear into the Empire's enemies, blah blah blah.

"I must convene with the Emperor and inform him of your progress," Baras added. Vette's head suddenly snapped upwards in attention - the lack of, well, _face_ made it difficult for her to gauge if Baras was being serious. "Take a shuttle to Dromund Kaas, meet me at the Citadel there."

"Tell the Emperor I said hello," Cehirse deadpanned, much to her surprise. 

“I'm sure he'll be _thrilled_. Take the Twi’lek slave as my gift,” Baras added, “do with her as you wish. She may even be useful on Dromund Kaas, in the ruins, or as bait." 

“Oh, joy,” Vette muttered, in what she hoped was under her breath. "You should wrap me up real pretty, while you're at it." 

"Thank you. I'll be sure to utilize your generous gift in the best capacity possible," Cehirse said. Baras chuckled darkly.

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" he asked. Vette gagged as discreetly as possible.  "I'll see you soon, apprentice." 


	3. Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest it seem like my Warrior and Inquisitor have sexual tension - they're actually half-siblings. And they're somewhat aware of it, or at least they won't be surprised once they officially find out. Like a Luke and Leia bond thing. Force-users, man.

Onboard the _Black Talon_ , the Sith sniffed disdainfully at their sleeping quarters. Drab grey, a single bed, a bare desk. ETA to Dromund Kaas was within a standard galactic day, but the thought of being stuck in this cramped, windowless room with nobody to interact with besides  _Vette,_ of all people, irritated him. His reaction was apparently less nuanced than he'd thought, because Vette laughed at him. 

“Oh, come on,” she exclaimed. Her single bag dropped to the metal flooring with a _thunk_. “This is the nicest intergalactic public transport I’ve seen. Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a civilian-class shuttle before.” Cehirse remained silent. “That’s insane. Hey, I’ll stay on the floor, right?”

“We could share the bed,” he said, completely stone-faced.

“Hahaha! Ew. I can’t tell whether you’re super-gross or have a super-weird sense of humour.”

“Speaking of which,” Cehirse sighed.

Outside, someone knocked twice, politely, then banged on the door. Vette was about to ask what the relation was when Cehirse slammed on the door panel with his elbow; the door slid open, rather anticlimactically, revealing a small, heavily tattooed Lethan Twi’lek about to Force-push her way inside. An unfamiliar-looking alien stood stoically beside her; Vette had to double-check that it wasn't a creepy statue that had materialized since they'd entered the room. It was still Sith space, after all.

“There you are,” Cehirse said. “I thought I sensed you.” He turned towards Vette. “Slave Twi’lek, meet slave Twi’lek. Other slave Twi’lek, meet slave Twi’lek. And her Dashade.”

“How terribly amusing.” The Lethan Twi’lek shoved Cehirse aside and gave Vette a nod of recognition; Vette noted that she spoke in a heavy Imperial accent. “Ah, the thief from the prisons - you have my sympathies for being stuck with this lummox of a Sith. I am Raelena'brina-" she trilled her words in the Twi'leki way Cehirse hadn't heard either women use before, "one of your master's old Academy rivals. Not a slave anymore.”

“If I considered you my rival, you would be dead.” Cehirse crossed his arms; Vette braced herself for a violent confrontation, but he casually leaned against the nearest wall, instead. “Since you’re here in one piece, I take it Zash chose you after all?”

“Maybe they’ll bury Vemrin and Ffon in the same shallow grave,” Raelen said, rubbing her hands in sheer delight, “or mash them up together and serve them to the tuk’ata in the same gruel.”

Vette groaned. “I’m gonna go vomit quietly in a corner, don’t mind me.”

“Vemrin was slain and left to rot in the tomb of Naga Sadow,” Cehirse informed the Inquisitor, choosing to ignore Vette. “Incidentally, that tomb was why I needed Vette. I wouldn’t have taken her otherwise, trust me. Before you go on a rant about the subjugation of alien species, she was a gift from Baras. I couldn't refuse.”

Raelen's eyes narrowed. "So, you're bringing the girl with you to Dromund Kaas, and maybe even beyond?"

"Possibly. What of it?" Raelen suddenly pointed straight at Vette, almost accusingly. Vette let out an involuntarily squeak. 

“You," the Inquisitor said, "if he ever tries to force you into anything of an intimate nature, come find me. I will _end_ him.”

“‘Anything of an intimate nature’?” Cehirse repeated, incredulously. “What sort of man do you believe me to be? And how, exactly, do you expect her to locate you in all of Dromund Kaas?”

“Not many Twi’lek Lords around,” the Inquisitor said, dispassionately, as if stating a fact. “It shouldn’t be hard.”

“So the super scary Sith thing isn’t restricted to Purebloods. Good to know,” Vette muttered. Raelen laughed loudly at this, and Vette stiffened at the sound, preparing herself for her impending death.

“I like her,” Raelen announced. She motioned for the Dashade as she left. “Vette, did you say her name was? Do not kill her.”

Cehirse shrugged noncommittally.

* * *

Several hours into the journey, Raelen knocked on their door again. Vette answered, grateful for an excuse to stop sitting around, in silence, and fight to keep Cehirse out of her mind. She knew he was doing it; she didn't know if he knew that she knew he was doing it. It felt like being forced to use a head massager, except a hundred times scarier, which was incredible since Vette was already utterly terrified of most objects meant to be latched onto body parts above chest-level. 

“Fetch the lummox," Raelen said coolly. "We may have a situation.”

“I’m here.” Cehirse came up behind Vette, startling her into a small yelp. “What’s the problem? Did your Dashade eat someone?”

“I was coerced into speaking to Grand Moff Kilran on the holo. I possibly told him that you were present onboard as well and maybe insulted his face a little. Bad scarring,” Raelen added, in an aside to Vette, “looks like a third degree burn with stubble and eyes.”

“Okay, so you sassed the Grand Moff," Cehirse said. "I'm not hearing how this involves me."

“That isn’t all.” Raelen side-stepped, revealing a protocol droid which had apparently been holding a blaster to her back the whole time. “Using this shuttle, we have to board a Republic cruiser, the _Brentaal Star_ , to capture or kill a man referred to as ‘the General’. This is an order, not a request; Kilran was very clear about that." Raelen smacked the blaster out of the droid's hands. "Also, his personal NR-02 here makes me highly uncomfortable."

“Yeah.” Vette examined NR-02 closely. “Custom chassis, probably built for battle. And his head isn’t wired right. For starters, most of these factotum droids don't need twelve different restraining bolts to, you know, discourage rampant killing.”

“The manufacturer is not responsible for any loss of life incurred by my capabilities,” NR-02 said.

“You can tell just by staring at it?” Cehirse asked Vette. 

She feigned modesty.  “I used to take these things apart so often I could do it with my eyes closed. It’s an old model, from a line discontinued around a decade ago because of personality defects. A ton of them ended up in scrap heaps on Nar Shaddaa. " She shuddered. "I’m not gonna touch an active one.” The droid was inexplicably holding a new blaster in his hands, the previous one still at his feet.

“Before we make any other plans, we have to hijack the _Talon_ ,” Raelen said. “Unbelievably, our captain wasn’t too keen when Kilran first suggested that this dingy vessel would be suitable for the mission.”

"Try to kill as little as possible as we head to the bridge," Cehirse advised, causing Vette to whip her head around to gape at him.

Raelen and Khem Val followed NR-02 out into the hallway; Vette remained rooted to the spot, staring open-mouthed.

"What?" he prompted defensively. "I'm sensible. We'll need the crew's help for the assault."

"Oh. Right. It's nice how you feel the need to justify being merciful, just when I thought you placed a smidgen of value on the life of grunts, or something." Cehirse reached into the Force. He sensed Vette's agitation, only to realise he didn't need to, because she was openly glaring at him. Perhaps he shouldn't have spent hours trying to find a way into her head; he knew that she knew, but he hadn't anticipated her cracking. Then again, he hadn't anticipated a homicidal droid and an impromptu hijacking, either, so today was clearly not shaping up to be in his favour.  "Kriffing Sith and their...strategies, and poodoo." 

"I need you to stay calm," Cehirse told her, "and stay focused. Don't take your anxiety out on me. I know we've been placed in a difficult situation, but I'll try to get us out of this alive." 

"So you can kill me later?" Vette retorted. "I saw that shrug a couple of hours ago. I didn't appreciate it."

"Can we not do this at this very moment?" 

"Retract your shrug!"

"No! Now follow like a good slave!" Cehirse marched out of the room, Vette on his heels, equally angry. He had to admit - Vette's fury was more interesting than her fear. He hoped it would sustain them both throughout the coming battle.

Soon, they ran into Raelen and Khem Val's fight with a group of the  _Talon_ 's guards. They were winning, by the looks of it, but there was still a ways to go until they reached the bridge. NR-02 was standing by himself, unmoving, observing; Cehirse decided not to ask. 

The tomb of Naga Sadow had been fairly spacious - Cehirse and Vette weren't accustomed to fighting together in such close quarters. He was fairly certain that she wasn't actively trying to kill him, but every now and then, he would need to reach behind with one lightsaber to parry her errant blaster fire. 

"Stop shooting at me!" he yelled.

"Stop blocking my shots!"

Alarms blared. Imperial Troopers began to flood in from every direction, threatening to overwhelm their small party before they even reached the command deck. Raelen closed her eyes in concentration, turned both palms upwards, and conjured a massive explosion of Force energy as a barrier between them and the troops. 

“Go,” she shouted at her allies, over the crackling of her electrical storm. Khem Val didn't look like he was willing to leave his master. Without thinking, Cehirse grabbed Vette by the hand and pulled her along as he dashed to the bridge. 

* * *

"Captain, call off your men!" Cehirse projected his voice across the bridge using the Force. Captain Orzik shook his head helplessly. They had to march down the long path to the command centre in order to reach him, with Cehirse effortlessly bowling over the guards who tried to stop them.

“How come you can’t do what your friend did back there?” Vette wondered, earlier argument apparently forgotten. "That's a cool trick."

“She calls me lighting-impotent.” Cehirse waved a hand, sending another group of guards flying as he spoke. Orzik flinched. "I find Force-choking to be a better form of catharsis, anyway."

He was astonishingly civil towards the Captain. Vette couldn't tell if he was being manipulative or genuinely compassionate; Cehirse probably didn't know, himself. All he knew was that he was destined for greater things than to die on a transport shuttle because of some Imperials' shoddy planning. The rest of the crew were quickly convinced.

The _Talon_ jumped into hyperspace and emerged right in front of the _Brentaal Star_. Orzik called for evasive maneuvers as the ships engaged each other - the _Talon's_ heavy armoring meant it could withstand more than a few hits from a standard Republic cruiser, but the _Star_ sent several shuttles worth of men to board them. NR-02 stayed on the bridge as Cehirse and Vette rushed to the hangar.

The troops had already begun to exchange fire. Raelen and Khem Val were also there, Raelen visibly winded. There were two empty wreckages of Republic shuttles, though Cehirse could clearly see more headed towards them. Fresh corpses of both Republic and Imperial soldiers were piled in one corner; Khem was staring at them, hungrily.

Raelen sighed. “Remind me never to do that again.” She then turned around and proceeded to do exactly 'it' again, causing one landing Republic shuttle to be overcome by a whirlwind of electricity, drop out of the air, and burst into flames behind her. Muffled screams of dying soldiers briefly filled the air. Raelen groaned in pain, clutching her stomach. "You were supposed to remind me."

“Go to the bridge and rest,” Cehirse instructed her, “I’ll call you once we're ready to begin the assault.”

“I can still fight,” Raelen insisted, sharply. As she said this, she wobbled and nearly fell over from Force-induced vertigo. Cehirse rolled his eyes when Vette dove to help steady her. “Thank you, Vette."

"No problem," Vette chirped. 

"Bridge. Now," he demanded. "Carry your master if you must," he added, to Khem Val. 

"I'm going!" Raelen said, sharply. "Try not to die." 

The hangar was cleared within less than half an hour, thankfully without further incident. Cehirse let the Imperial troops catch their breaths; when he and Vette returned to the bridge, Raelen and Captain Orzik were conversing with someone via holo. He recognised the woman on the other end as Satele Shan, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order; on Korriban, they'd done target practice with her holo-image. He'd had an 85% accuracy rating. 

"This is my associate - another apprentice, unfortunately, but held in much higher esteem than me," Raelen introduced him. "Say hello, Cehirse."

"Hello," Cehirse said, carefully. Vette was beginning to notice that the Sith Pureblood was naturally deferring to a Twi'lek's judgment, despite supposedly being predestined to be her superior. It was weird, to say the least - but now she suspected that his xenophobia was, for the most part, bravado. 

"Greetings. As I was telling your friend -" Cehirse's face twitched at her choice of word, but he said nothing, "the _Brentaal Star_ is under my protection. I'm en route to your location with sixteen Republic vessels. I just crippled three Imperial dreadnoughts. I don't wish to destroy you - the peace between Republic and Empire is fragile enough already." 

"This doesn't have to end in bloodshed. We only want one man," Raelen claimed. 

"Tell the  _Star_ to hand over the General," Cehirse offered, shooting the Inquisitor a grudging look, "our forces are also reluctant to fight yours. No one else needs to be hurt today." 

"The General has a role to play with the Republic," Master Shan replied. "Incidents like this are happening across the galaxy, but only because we let them. Leave the  _Brentaal Star_ to me." She paused, for emphasis. "If you don't, then may the Force be with you - because the men and women aboard that ship can hold you off until we arrive. And you  _will_ be defeated." 

Raelen was rendered speechless by the Jedi's aggression. 

"Do I have to kill you to get you to stop talking?" Cehirse growled. Unexpectedly, he didn't sense Vette's disapproval - he supposed she got meaner in tense moments such as this. 

"Well, so much for the diplomatic approach," Raelen said bitterly. 

"You've made yourself clear. But I suggest you prepare to face a Jedi - and you may want to consider what that means," Satele said, voice icy. 

"Cut the channel," Raelen hissed.

"Entering fighter range," an ensign reported, "the _Brentaal Star_ is launching its first squadron." 

"It's time for us to do the same," Captain Orzik said. "I assume the Sith will be leading the boarding party to go after the General?" 

"Naturally," Cehirse said, utterly determined, which made Vette groan. 

"I advise that you proceed to the shuttle bay," NR-02 interrupted, "the flight to the  _Brentaal Star_ may be hazardous, but Grand Moff Kilran has complete faith in both of your abilities."

"Tell Kilran to shove it," Vette snapped, pushing past the droid as they headed out. 

* * *

Boarding parties quickly assembled and crammed into transport shuttles. Landing in the  _Star_ 's hangar was rough, but everyone disembarked unscathed. ("The _Black Talon_ is a _Gage_ -class transport," Vette informed her allies during the bumpy ride, reading off Raelen's datapad, "not fast, not powerful, but it has crazy heavy armoring, so it should still be there when we're done. Probably.") Cehirse disembarked first, the Force adding weight to his feet as he jumped to the hangar's floor. 

"I'm looking forward to killing everyone on this ship," he declared. 

"We're not going to kill everyone on this ship," Raelen interjected, stepping out of the transport daintily then offering Vette her hand. The smile immediately dropped from Cehirse's face. 

"Why not?" he asked, deeply affronted. 

"Because we don't have the  _time_ , fool. And you're staying with our troops." Raelen began to pull up her ankle-length skirt; Cehirse nearly shrieked in horror, then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the stealth generator strapped to her leg. "I can reach and eliminate the General faster on my own, as a precaution if we can't escape before the fleet arrives. Distract the Republic forces as I slip past, then hold this area." 

"You wound me," Cehirse said. 

"It's a good idea," Vette said, almost simultaneously. They glared at each other. 

"Maybe we'd stand a better chance if you stopped flirting." Raelen took advantage of the stunned silence that followed to flicker out of sight; Khem Val wordlessly trailed after her cackling outline. The apprentices' bond in the Force wasn't strong, but Cehirse could still telepathically send Raelen a vague stream of expletives. 

* * *

An hour later, the General was being escorted onto one of the Imperial shuttles heading back to the _Black Talon_. There was no Republic fleet in sight. Cehirse eyed Raelen, furious, as they boarded theirs.

"You should've killed him," he said, voice deathly low. Holding the hangar had been an uneventful task following the initial rush of Republic troops - his blood itched. He wanted to fight something, somehow. 

"Practically speaking, it didn't make sense," Raelen protested. "Khem, put on your seatbelt." Khem Val grumbled something about Tulak Hord as Cehirse continued scolding her. 

"His demise would have demoralized the Republic. You thought you were being merciful," Cehirse spat, "but you've merely mitigated the death of an insignificant person. He'll be tortured, then either executed or kept imprisoned for life. _Practically speaking_ , what sort of intelligence do you think we'll extract from a fat old man who defected from  _us_ in the first place?" 

"<<<  _There was a Twi'lek_ _guarding the General_ ,  >>>" Raelen confided in Vette, in Twi'leki, a language so archaic that most translator programs didn't bother including it. Vette hadn't been fluent in a while, but she understood well enough. "<<<  _Yadira'ban, a_ _Jedi Padawan, like my twin sister is. I had to kill_   _her. Khem Val consumed her Force essence in front of me._ >>>" _  
_

From her strong intonation when conversing in Twi'leki, Vette guessed that Raelen came from the pilgrim group that had settled on Tython, or at least lived among them at some point. In traditional Twi'lek culture, sisterhood was considered as important as marriage, sometimes more. Killing a fellow female Twi'lek was emotionally taxing, even for a non-traditionally raised individual such as Vette; to cut down one who reminded you of your own biological sister...

"<<<  _I'm sorry_ , >>>" Vette replied, reaching over to pat Raelen's shoulder sympathetically. 

"<<< _The idiot Sith can't know that_ _I spared the General because I couldn't bear to let Yadira's sacrifice be totally meaningless._ >>>"

"<<<  _That's understandable._  >>>" 

" _Zudyiti nun dabar_ ," Cehirse said, darkly. Both Twi'leks stared at him, while Khem Val actually let out a sound resembling laughter at what he'd said. "My apologies, I thought we were playing a game where we make each other uncomfortable by speaking in our native tongue." 

"Shut up," Raelen sighed, for once not in the mood to verbally spar. 

"I said 'kill me now', if anyone is interested." 

* * *

Back on the _Black Talon_ , Vette and Raelen spent the rest of the journey chatting to each other. At first Cehirse assumed that their rapport was simply due to their shared race and background as slaves of the Sith Empire, but he soon discovered that they had more in common. Like tormenting him, for instance.

“Parents? No, he doesn’t have them anymore,” Raelen told Vette. "His father died when he was a baby and his mother was killed in his adolescence. He’s supposed to be the last of their line, actually. Tragic.”

“That is pretty darn tragic,” Vette agreed. She glanced at Cehirse. He deliberately avoided making eye contact with them, though he could sense Raelen smirking.

“Awfully. Especially since he’s hopeless with women. In the Academy, there were many acolytes fawning over him - this mysterious, strong Sith Pureblood with his sub-Dromund Kaas accent and lowbrow sarcasm - and he’d brush them off in the most cruel ways possible so he could go for combat practice or, on occasion, _read in the library_.” Raelen shuddered and sighed, dramatically. “What an end to a distinguished family. Granted, all of those acolytes died fairly quickly, and it wasn’t even either of us who killed most of them.”

“My sarcasm is not lowbrow!" 

“He can be pretty funny when he’s not pants-shittingly terrifying,” Vette admitted.

“You’ll get used to it,” Raelen assured her, “once you get past the bone and gristle and intense frowns, he’s not that bad compared to other Sith...such as yours truly.”

“You’re sweet,” Vette objected. Raelen jerked a thumb in the direction of the hangar.

“Tell that to the soldiers I fried.”

“I have a feeling they won’t hear much.” Vette suddenly bolted upright. “Hey, do you ever pull pranks with your lightning?”

“Sure. Allow me to demonstrate.” Raelen snapped her fingers at one of the guards on duty, clearly enjoying her newfound freedom far too much. They obediently approached her, and she grinned as she stuck a hand out. “Put ‘er there.” As they shook hands, small sparks jumped from Raelen’s fingertips; the guard let out a ‘yowch!’ and stormed away, muttering under their breath about young Sith. Vette nearly fell over laughing. “Don’t worry, I never cause any real damage. Well, not to anyone who doesn’t deserve it. You should've seen your master's face when I tried it on him.”

“I have a great prank,” Cehirse said, with false enthusiasm, “it’s the one where you use the Force to crush the windpipe of a talkative Twi’lek. Classic.” Vette laughed, again, and he mentally cursed Raelen.

* * *

They said their goodbyes in the arrivals lounge of the spaceport - or, rather, Vette and Raelen said goodbye, while Cehirse and Khem Val waited in their respective corners and scowled.

“Be good to her,” Raelen told Cehirse in a whisper, grabbing him roughly by the arm before he could attempt to ignore her. As they spoke, Vette attempted to make awkward conversation with Khem Val. "Or at least less violent than usual." 

“Why?” he questioned. He didn’t plan on physically hurting Vette - emotional manipulation seemed to be a more effective way to secure her obedience - but it was fun riling her up.

“Other than the fact that I’ll kill you if I learn of any abuse? As a favour to me.” Cehirse looked unconvinced; Raelen tried again. “Vette has the self-assurance of a Sith. She even reminds me of a happier version of myself. Such willpower is rare in most individuals, especially the non-Force-sensitive dwelling within the Empire.”

"You were supposed to give me reasons why I _shouldn’t_ harm her.”

“I won’t even justify that with a response. You’re a toothless kath hound, all bark and no bite.” With that, Raelen turned heel and marched off. Cehirse was left fuming in her wake, her words resounding in his ears:  _all bark and no bite_.

Naturally, he felt like killing something. 


	4. Master and Slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Cehirse actually consciously decides to be a Type A Tsundere and thinks that that counts for Sith points.

The next thing Cehirse did was execute his master’s sniveling welcoming party. Predictably, Vette was unhappy, though decidedly unsurprised. 

“Wow. Didn’t take you long to start the Dromund Kaas death toll,” she commented.

“It was a long shuttle ride,” he explained, not taking his eyes off the man’s corpse. Passersby scurried around them, uncaring, as this was a regular occurrence in the Dromund Kaas spaceport. An astromech droid wheeled up and began to clear the mess with its built-in broom and panhandle.

“You were going through withdrawal. I get it,” Vette said, in a tone that suggested that no, she absolutely did not get it.

They headed out of the spaceport, and were immediately confronted by the vast jungles choking the footpath to the city, plus the perpetual tempest overhead. Vette shivered and hugged herself as they waited for a taxi.

“Yuck. How do you stand this planet?” she asked, swatting at the bloodsucking insects which were flitting around her yet mysteriously avoiding Cehirse.

“I try not to visit too often. I’m not a native, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And what’s with the thunder and lightning?”

“Something to do with the Emperor,” he answered vaguely. “We don’t think about it.”

“One last question. Really!” Vette insisted, when he began to snap at her. “Soooo...does everyone else here murder random people as soon as they meet ‘em, or is that just you?”

“Let it go, Vette.”

“I’m just saying, you might wanna consider taking insurance out on me.”

Their speeder taxi arrived; Cehirse held a door open and stared at Vette, waiting.

She tilted her head. “Hey, your mom had time to teach you manners in between the graah-raaah scary Sith-ing? I’m kinda impressed.”

“I’m making sure you don’t run away. Not that it matters much,” he continued, in an even voice, “because if you’re foolish enough to attempt an escape now, I’d let you go, and you’ll likely end up getting eaten by a giant, venomous, generationally cursed rill.”

“That’s...specific.”

“There are many other ways in which you could die.”

“I’ll take my chances with you,” Vette sighed, before he could begin to list them.

She climbed into the backseat and scooted over, expectantly; instead, Cehirse closed the door, walked around the taxi, and sat in the front passenger seat.

“ _Oh_. I see how it is,” she said. “You’re afraid you’re gonna get slave cooties.”

“I have motion sickness,” he fibbed, without putting much effort into it. 

“Right.” She folded her arms and huffed. “I watched you jump out of a moving shuttle two different times.”

The entrance to Kaas City was congested with more traffic than usual. Cehirse growled in frustration and made the taxi stop outside the city walls, then led Vette inside by foot. 

“Wow.” Vette looked around, gaping, more out of morbid fascination than awe; the city itself seemed evil in both drab corporate and ominous ancient ways, with its oppressive air and overall greyness and pointy structures which, when viewed from an aerial perspective, spelled out a Sith curse meant to summon the spirit of a dormant world-eater-demon. Cehirse decided not to mention that bit of fun trivia. “It’s like a convention of crazy.”

“How fortunate that I brought you along, then.”

“Ha! Good one.” Her posture relaxed, somewhat. The Pureblood made a mental note:  _humour puts her guard down._ Vette also made a mental note:  _Sith is able to crack jokes that don't revolve around murder_. 

* * *

Manipulation 101 hadn't been an actual class at the Academy, but Cehirse was of the dwindling few Sith who believed that you didn't always have to muscle through things in order to get to their core. It really wasn't as progressive as they made it sound - after all, it was still about breaking and entering, still about domination, just a different kind - but it was a quarter of a baby step in what could tentatively be described as the less-wrong direction. 

He could freely admit his jealousy of Raelen's ability to connect with Vette. Sith society could be described as an extreme competition. Biologically, modern Purebloods never fully grew out of the drive to compete for basic resources; since physiological needs tended to be accounted for, their attention turned towards the interpersonal: love, friendship, sex, and so on. It was hard to grasp that there were worthwhile things which weren't scarce - the common thought went, if no one else wants what you have, why do  _you_ want it? Thankfully, Cehirse didn’t have any siblings, (or at least any through his mother...he was beginning to have his suspicions) so he’d never had to compete for his mother’s love.

When Raelen had expressed such friendly interest in Vette, she'd marked her as something worth having, which was problematic because Vette already 'belonged' to Cehirse. Ever since the failed Sith Triumvirate, relationships were considered from a one-on-one perspective; to introduce a third into any dynamic unbalanced the equation. Cehirse and Raelen were allies, Raelen and Vette were fast friends, and Cehirse and Vette were master and slave, respectively. In his relationship with Raelen, he was the weaker, which was fine; what was not fine was the fact that Vette didn't quite respect him. _He was at a disadvantage and someone might kill him_. 

He recalled the most effective extractions of information on Korriban: pain and reward. Give and take, with an emphasis on take. There was no worthwhile information to be gained from Vette, but he needed to know that he could bend others to his will without resorting to hitting them repeatedly. Solemn threats and overt mind games had been unsuccessful - he needed a new tactic. Beginning to play along with her, maybe; allowing himself to laugh at some of her jokes; adjusting his ratio of praise and insults; occasionally speaking to her as an equal though he vehemently believed that was not the case. Gradually, or else she'd edge further into distrust. He had a lot to think about until Baras summoned him. 

Cehirse told himself that seeking Vette's approval made sense, in the interest of balancing the equation and in terms of potential short-term alliances: she was smart, useful, and, judging from personal experience, easy to underestimate. Besides, it was just as well that she was another Twi'lek slave, so he didn't have to worry that he'd end up liking her or anything. 

* * *

He hailed another taxi, gave it directions to his family's apartment building. It had been abandoned for years - there would be no welcoming party there, which was good, since he had a feeling he'd have to lay off random acts of homicide for the time being. He opened the door for Vette, again; he walked around to sit in the front, again. 

* * *

Historically, Twi'leks demonstrated love through submission; absorption of the individual into the partner, the family, the clan. Of course, things had changed since they'd been, you know, enslaved multiple times over and perpetually exploited in the alleged freedom they could find, but sometimes the sentiment remained.

No one understood why Vette fought as hard as she did. Physical freedom was a privilege for her - she personally believed that it was a right, but she'd learned to survive without it. To be forced into submission was an atrocity, while to willingly submit to her 'masters' was the equivalent of opening the door for them, rolling out a carpet, and fetching them something to drink as they murdered Twi'lek children. That was why she proverbially clawed and spat and generally went down swinging; because she would rather die than participate in her own death. Death of the self, death of the idea, everything was connected.

But there had always been one thing which bothered Vette about traditional Twi'lek upbringings: inequality in relationships was not only expected, but admired. Her father had been gone sometime before she and her family had been separated, so she'd never witnessed this in practice, though it was still there amongst her childhood friends' families and attempts she'd seen at Twi'lek communities. Mutual assured destruction, as she was sure these Sith would so violently put it. There was no Twi'leki word for 'divorce', or 'render', or 'separate', because after a union there wasn't supposed to be anything left to split into. Maybe that was why so many Twi'leks ended up in interspecies relationships instead, she didn't know. 

Their idea of love - romantic or platonic, of beings or institutions - entailed erasure of identity.  Which was at odds with Vette's very reason to continue existing: because only she could ever be herself, and she'd be damned if she ever let anyone take that opportunity away from her. Yes, she found purpose in rescuing fragments of her people's heritage, but her vocation had every bit as much to do with being _Vette_ as being Twi'lek. Somehow, she knew that she wasn't defined by what she loved or who loved her. There were many dreams she'd given up on ever since the day they'd torn her away from her mother's side. Give, give, give...one way or another, life came to that. 

That was why she was numb towards the hatred she encountered, such as whatever it was that she glimpsed in Cehirse's eyes when he opened the taxi's door for her the second time. Still, as far as past 'masters' (she always imagined the word with quotation marks, like flies around bantha shit) were concerned, Raelen had been right; he wasn't too bad. He hadn't hurt her yet, not even emotionally. She was rightfully wary of him. She decided to keep poking the Sith-y exterior, to see if something would crack. If she died in the process - then more power to her. 

* * *

Vette stared out the window, practicing her best gloomy face. Her fingers drummed against her seat in no particular rhythm, an intentional action meant to provoke Cehirse, to see what set him off and what he could just ignore. She was an archaeologist. She was used to solving riddles, especially the kind liable to kill her if she got them wrong.

* * *

They had no idea, but their trams of thought were about to collide.

* * *

"What?" Cehirse asked flatly. From the backseat, Vette let out an indignant groan.

"I didn't say anything!" 

"You're quiet. That means you're thinking, and that means you're going to bother me, so we might as well get it over with." He turned his head, to raise an eyebrow stalk at her. 

"Spaceport. Murder," she blurted.

"Ah, there it is." 

“This may be a surprise, but you don’t have to kill every single useless person who mildly annoys you.”

“ _Really_?” Cehirse asked, only half-sarcastically. “Fascinating. I’m Sith - I am the example the Empire aspires to, the pinnacle of both evolution and my ancestors’ drive for power, the foundation of Imperial society. What do you suggest I do instead?”

“I dunno. Try talking first, for once?” Vette paused. “And you can’t be a pinnacle and a foundation at the same time. Those are exactly opposite things.” Infuriatingly, she grinned at him. “Good thing you’re not an architect, huh. Or maybe that's the Sith concept of buildings, which kinda explains the whole topsy-turvy aesthetic you've got going on here." 

“Contrary to what Raelen thinks, we can’t all be wet-blanket Sith.”

“I think she’s brave.”

“I think you’re naive.” Cehirse twisted around so he could flash Vette a short, cruel smile. “See? Many sentient beings are capable of thought. Merely believing something to be true doesn’t make it so, and being capable of thought doesn't necessarily indicate that you deserve freedom. Consciousness is a gift, meaningless if you don’t do anything meaningful with it. You admitted it yourself: Baras' man was useless. Those with lesser wills must be utilized to serve the greater purpose of the strong, to create ideals for everyone to aspire to; they must be disposed of when depleted, in order to conserve resources. The casualties along the way are inconsequential compared to the alternative of letting the idiot collective decide for itself. " 

“Who are you to define meaning?”

“I am Sith.” He glared at her - with less intensity than usual - as the cab pulled to a stop. “We’re going in circles.”

“Yeah.” Vette briefly returned his glare. “Think about that.”


	5. Dark and Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no justification for why Latin exists in the Star Wars universe, but it kind of does.
> 
> A picture and a really brief description of Cehirse are [here](http://tehsharkie.tumblr.com/swtorocs).

Cehirse did think about that.

His family's apartment was on the highest floor of its building, but it was small compared to the house on Ziost. It also hadn't been cleaned in twenty years. Its biometric scanners worked without a hitch; Vette coughed herself hoarse as the front door panel slid open, displacing a layer of dust. At least the power still worked. 

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he began carefully. Now it was Vette’s turn to raise a brow at him.

“Uh?”

"There's no need for us to be hostile towards each other." 

"No offense, but there kinda is."

"I'm as stuck with you as you are with me," Cehirse pointed out. He was fairly new to this elaborate-manipulation thing, but he recalled that the best lies were the ones with a grain of truth. "It's all well and good for me to dispose of my master's trash for him, but he gave you to me as a gift. It would look bad if I squander you. This will be less unpleasant if we...cooperate."

"Sure! _Quid pro quo_." Vette's voice dripped with excessively cheerful sarcasm. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine. I mop up the bloodstains you leave splattered everywhere, and you hold my lekku for me as I throw up afterwards." 

"Watch it," he warned.

"Sorry." She shrugged, with a little smile. "So, you're proposing we, what, bond? Sit in a circle and gossip about boys?" 

He glanced at the wall-chrono, which was miraculously still working, too. "I think I still have some time before Baras summons me," Cehirse said. "Let me take you out for a drink."

"What."

"I've heard of a popular cantina nearby."

"What." Vette shook her head, then examined the Pureblood with obvious skepticism. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, no." 

"Gimme a moment to wash the blaster smell out of my clothes." 

* * *

“Nexus Room Cantina, huh?” Vette squinted at the glowing Aurebesh sign; the building itself was unremarkable, not even the pointiest in its district, but there was a steady stream of people coming and going. “Wait. Is that nexus as in ‘nexus’, or nexus as in ‘more than one nexu’?”

“Yes, I'm aware that you can read. There’s no need to show off.”

They headed inside. A server facotum droid handed them flimsiplast menus. There was a live band, sort of - a trio of musician droids activated by jukebox selections; both of them glanced at the droids with varying levels of distaste. Cehirse pulled a chair out for her. Vette forced herself to sit still as he pushed it in, as well. Then, to her surprise, he took a seat immediately beside her. 

“People might think we’re on a date," she hissed.   
  
“Is that a bad thing?” he questioned, mildly. He motioned at a group of younger, rowdier Sith apprentices a few tables down. “They won’t dare proposition you if they think we're involved.”

“Well, thanks. That's sweet, and almost kind of a compliment.”

"I know their type. They'd have intercourse with a cabbage if the opportunity presented itself." 

Vette's eyes narrowed. "Did you just compare me to a cabbage?"

"No," Cehirse lied. 

"Whatever." She glared at the musician droids, again. Now they were activated, playing lift-tube smooth jatz, which some of the older patrons were actually trying to dance to. The Empire really _was_ soulless. "You think we can pay them to shut up?"

"You're welcome to short-circuit them."

"Really?" Vette pursed her lips, eyes twinkling for the first time in ages. "'Cause I can do that. But _you_ could just explode them with the Force, so I don't see why I've gotta do the legwork."

"Two-thirds of this cantina's clientele are Force-users. If I did anything to disrupt their precious...whatever this is-" Cehirse made a dismissive hand gesture; she had hoped he'd fry their systems with it, but no, "- they would all sense it, tear me to shreds, then possibly write a new song about it. 'Pureblood Blood' does sound like something they'd title an uninspired floonorp solo." 

"Heehee. Floonorp. Fl _oooo_ -norp," she giggled. She read off the menu: "The droids're called the Leisurenauts. More like leisure- _nots_." 

He allowed himself a small chuckle at that. "Tell me more about yourself, Vette," he said, while they were still getting along. She tilted her head in thought, evidently sorting for information he couldn't use against her, though he suspected that she wouldn't dare tell an outright lie. There was loneliness in her, too, a desire to share her past, which outweighed whatever unease she felt around him. 

"I was a slave when I was a little girl, before I got free." She glanced around - at the dim lowlights, the musician droids, the unfriendly-looking Sith. "Annnnd I'm a slave now, at twenty-one. Sort of full circle, I guess." 

"You work for a Sith, as all in the Empire do, even other Sith. But your collar has been removed." 

"Right." She sighed, then quickly added, "I do appreciate the difference, believe me. It's less...shocking this way. Heh. Get it. Shock." Cehirse watched her, waited. "My mother and sister and I were grabbed when I was little. I don't remember much of it. We worked the mines on Ryloth, then they separated us." He sensed something else lingering behind her words, dark and heavy, but he couldn't reach it. "I got sold to a Rodian, then a Hutt, then some sort of...weird three-eyed thing." 

"I'm guessing your masters found you more trouble than you were worth." 

"Har har. Yeah. So I was never gonna get 'Slave of the Year'," Vette replied wryly. "Still won't. And that's kinda incredible, because I think I'm your only slave...?" 

"You are," Cehirse confirmed. "You have the whole sl- servants' quarters to yourself back in the apartment." 

"Oooh. Can I paint it?"

"N-" Give and take, take, take. " _Sure_." 

"I was thinking hot pink."

"You're trying to get a rise out of me, for fun," he observed, "which is terribly Sith-like behaviour. I see we've been corrupting you." 

"Hey, Sith didn't invent being annoying, mister." She inclined her head back towards the Leisurenauts. "But I can tell you're trying very hard to catch up to the rest of us." 

Vette had a single Calamari Xinphar; Cehirse tried a sip of Mandallian Narcolethe and nearly spat it out, though he managed to swallow his mouthful, then discreetly poured the remainder into a potted plant when Vette went to the refresher. He didn't ask why he sensed immense satisfaction upon her return, and she didn't ask how he'd managed to empty his glass in such a short amount of time. For every five facts she offered about herself, he gave up one about himself - besides, Raelen had probably already recounted some irritatingly accurate version of his life story so far. This outing wasn't intended to make friends, it was supposed to level the playing field. 

Baras called after an hour. As they stood to leave, the Leisurenauts started to malfunction: one repeated the same note ten times as the other two hit themselves on the heads with their instruments, to the new beat. The other patrons were utterly scandalized. Cehirse stared at Vette. She shrugged, with an immodest grin.

"Told you I could do it," she said. 

"Impressive." 

"Consider that a thank you."

* * *

At the entrance to Sith Sanctum, _poof!_ went any semblance of normalcy Vette had begun to find in the Empire.  

"I can wait outside," she suggested, hopefully, "or go back to the apartment and clean. Or get groceries or file your taxes or something. Slave stuff."

"'Slave stuff' is obeying your master," Cehirse pointed out, without _much_ malice. Then, in a kinder tone, he added, "As long as you don't make funny faces at the sacred Sith statues, you should be fine. If anyone has a problem with your mere presence - they'll take it up with me."

Vette stepped back a few paces, inspected his face, and frowned.  "You're acting really weird, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Darth Baras' office was as frigid and impersonal as its occupant; grey, drab, no decorations, not even a Sith pointy-thing or a conspicuously placed bust of a dead Lord. To Vette's mild surprise, Baras not only acknowledged her presence ("I hope she amuses you." Ugh, she thought), but he also mentioned that servant Cehirse had killed at the spaceport. 

"It was an accident, my Lord," he insisted, coughing unsubtly, "my hand slipped."

"We are no longer at the Academy on Korriban," Baras said, with a flippant wave of his hand. "You are  _Sith_. You can claim the cold-blooded murders you perform here." 

Vette sighed. "It's official: I do hate this place." 

"Killing him has not angered me," Baras continued, "with such a disagreeable weapon at my side, many will think twice before crossing me. Your responsibilities will mandate contact with my various minions. Meet my directives, and you may do as you will to anyone you encounter, adversary or ally."

"I work best when unrestrained," Cehirse said. He shot Vette a lingering, meaningful glance, implication burning in his eyes, saying, _S_ _ee? We're not so different after all._

 _Please kark off_ , Vette's eyes responded. 

"A lightsaber can only achieve so much, apprentice. The most powerful weapon in a Sith master's arsenal is information." Baras began to pace back and forth on the carpeted floor, which Vette viewed as an extremely overused villain-exposition move. "I have painstakingly built a vast network of spies and operatives embedded throughout the Sith, Republic, and Jedi alike. I have fingers, eyes, and ears everywhere."

"Ew. That does explain the mask," Cehirse muttered, under his breath, to Vette's amusement. Then, louder, with sincere astonishment, "You've successfully infiltrated the Jedi Order?" 

As Baras briefed him on the situation, the Pureblood reflected on the nature of his growing relationship with his master; Cehirse had always sought the guidance of father figures, such as childhood tutors and, most recently, Overseer Tremel. In time, he wished Baras would come to value him as more than an enforcer - he really did, and this revelation about a spy network further enforced his admiration for the Darth. He genuinely reflected that it was shame that all Sith dynamics had to end in someone's death. 

"Tomorrow, a military starship is touching down at the Kaas City cargo port, delivering a vitally important prisoner to me," Baras said. "You will meet Commander Lanklyn at Docking Bay Twelve, and make sure he and his men successfully offload this prisoner. The details will be in your holomail by tonight." 

For all of Baras' mystery, Cehirse at least knew that his master viewed him as more than a glorified errand boy. "If you're sending me, you must be expecting trouble," he ventured. He always expected trouble, anyway; the Force did have a fantastic sense of dramatic timing. 

"We must always assume we are being plotted against, especially when the stakes are high. Dismissed."

Vette made a face and shuddered all the way through their exit from the office, then the Citadel, then as they emerged onto the street. It was evening now, none of Dromund Kaas' three moons visible in the cloudy, lightning-streaked sky. Unexpectedly, Cehirse halted and pulled her aside. 

"You're not as steadfast in your beliefs as you may think." He smiled at her, that same threatening smile he'd flashed during their second taxi ride; it was a Sith Thing, she guessed, yet for some reason it seemed especially...off. The expression looked wrong on him, crooked and too small. "You're likely unaware, but you approved more of my jest about killing our welcoming party than you disapproved of the killing itself. I felt it in the Force, clear and undeniable."

Vette opened her mouth to protest, closed it, opened it again. "You could be lying."

"I could be," he agreed, "but you will never know, and it will always bother you." 

They walked back to the apartment, in silence.

* * *

Vette stared out of the big living room window as Cehirse prepared tomorrow's gear. She hated to admit it, but Kaas City looked different now, at night, when it should rightfully be in its element. There was a subdued version of Nar Shaddaa's commercial district glitz, the frenetic bustle of mid-level Coruscant, excluding the ever-present seediness of both and including flashes of lighting dotting an admittedly impressive skyline. Dark and bright. Deceptive. There were still suppression droids and Imperial Troopers monitoring every movement, the Citadel's spires looming in the distance, unfriendly reminders of her place in this scary new world. But she wouldn't let it get to her. She would  _not_. 

"It's still creepy as hell, but is it weird I think this place could feel like home, someday?" she questioned, deliberately with a hint of wistfulness, as if she was asking herself and not Cehirse. He took the bait. 

"You've learned to be adaptable. That's a good thing." 

He was up to something. She knew. 

"You're up to something," she blurted, "I know." 

"I wasn't joking earlier on. You really do think like a Sith," Cehirse claimed, attempting to sow the first seeds of doubt in her resolve as he weaved his way out of her accusation. "Paranoid. Emotional. Single-mindedly focused on your freedom."

"Mine and everyone else's," Vette retorted. She turned to face him, arms folded confrontationally. "No one is free when others are oppressed." 

"No one can ever truly be free. All are slaves: to a physical master, to the whims of society, or to their own limitations." 

"Uh-huh. Got any other banal sayings you wanna toss at me?"

"'The present is a gift'." 

"Cute, but I was thinking more along the lines of the cliche nihilism you enjoy so much." 

"Oh, that's a big word. Did you look that up?" Okay, that came off as rather patronizing - and Vette's current glare was actually scarier than Baras' cold, unmoving mask. Abort mission, his instincts screamed, abort! He inched towards his bedroom. "Good night," he said hastily. "If we finish early tomorrow, maybe we can get you that paint."

The door slid shut before she could reply. 


	6. Carbonite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the pacing's been kind of slow. Sorry about that! It picks up after Dromund Kaas. They still need to infiltrate the Revanites, kill Lord Grathan, grab the Ravager from the Dark Temple, and make halfhearted catty remarks at each other along the way.

Early the next day, Cehirse and Vette were at the spaceport, as instructed. Commander Lanklyn and his Troopers were already there. The Commander failed to notice them stride up to him, which, in Cehirse's mind, already counted as a first offense. Vette didn't think too highly of this oversight, either. 

"Hey, Captain Oblivious!" she called. "Boo."

"Oh!" Lanklyn turned around, startled. "Sorry, my Lord, I didn't see you enter." Cehirse sensed his trepidation. "Darth Baras didn't need to send a welcoming party."

"Obviously Darth Baras feels otherwise," he said, voice barely patient. 

"Believe me, buster," Vette added, "we don't have a great track record with welcoming parties." Like a good Imperial, Lanklyn completely ignored her comment; it briefly occurred to Cehirse that this was another way to build trust with her, to have her speak with the regular Imperials they came across - he'd seem tolerant in comparison. He filed the thought away, for now. 

"My men and I have performed much more dangerous duties," Lanklyn replied. Behind him, three of his Troopers foisted a large grey block onto the ground. "The prisoner is frozen in carbonite, so he's not a flight risk, and this is friendly territory." Lanklyn looked around, for emphasis. "Surely we're safe here."

Cehirse's perpetual scowl deepened. "There is no such thing as friendly territory."

"No offense, my Lord, but while that brand of paranoia may work for Lord Baras - I don't subscribe to it."

Strike two. "Which one of your men takes over after I kill you?" the Pureblood snapped. 

"I'm guessing it's the one with the helmet and the red stripes," Vette chirped. 

"Please, my Lord," the Commander said quickly, "there's no need for talk like that." Lanklyn bowed his head in submission, and Vette almost felt sorry for him. "I hear your point. Let's get this oversized block of ice to your master." 

"Carbonite isn't really ice," Vette quipped. "It's metal alloy from carbon, mixed with tibanna gas, compressed, and flash-frozen." Cehirse glanced at her, mildly impressed; Lanklyn ignored her again in favour of watching his men prepare to transport the prisoner. 

A few minutes had passed when Cehirse suddenly sensed several things amiss all at once. He broke away from the group, igniting his lightsaber as he walked; Vette followed, removing her blasters from their holsters. Sure enough, a greasy-looking human was approaching them, blaster drawn. 

"Not so fast," the human said. No uniform, no accent - probably a mercenary. Cehirse became aware of other intruders within the docking bay, a number so large it was difficult to pinpoint through the Force. "My master ordered that block of ice-"

"Compressed carbon," Vette muttered.  

"-so step away from the carbonite man, and no one ends up in a grave."

"This is a private party," Cehirse said, evenly. 

The human pointed his blaster at him. "Then consider it crashed. I'm here to relieve you of your burden - whether that includes your own lives as well is up to you."

Cehirse rolled eyes. "Do you get all of your pre-fight lines from holovids, or are you truly that unimaginative?" 

"Lookie, lookie!" a new voice exclaimed, from the other end of the docking bay. Now a Houk was joining them, with his own group of alien mercenaries; the Houk and the human exchanged glares, much to Cehirse's chagrin, because if anyone was going to be doing the glaring it was him. "If it ain't Slestak. Your master be wanting the froze man too, huh? Too bad for you! It mine!" 

"I think introductions are in order," Cehirse prompted. 

"Fine," the human said, momentarily lowering his blaster. "I am Slestak, and this ignoramus-" he glared at the Houk, "is Tumar. My master and the slime Tumar takes orders from don't exactly like each other."

"My slime crush your master with pinky!" Tumar shouted. 

"I'm such a fool," Lanklyn whispered, joining Cehirse; he was inclined to agree, preferably with a lightsaber to the throat, but that wouldn't be the best move given their current situation. "I'll never doubt Lord Baras again. What do we do?" 

"We kill them all." Vette still disapproved of his answer, though not as strongly as she would've days ago, they both noted - Cehirse with satisfaction, Vette with muted horror. 

"I know you're Sith, stranger," Slestak interjected, "but I think your bravado is ill-advised."

"Me got idea, Slestak! How about we play wishbone with the talker?" Tumar mimed ripping something in half. "Bigger half get the spoils!" 

Slestak nodded. "A truce, then. You stood a chance against one set of us, Sith, but even a master Force-user can't beat these odds." 

Oh, no. Now Cehirse was beginning to enjoy them and their charmingly inflated perceptions of themselves. He took a deep breath, and declared: 

" _I'M GOING TO KILL YOU AND EAT YOU ALL RAW._ "

Vette, Lanklyn, and all of the Imperial Troopers jumped back slightly, in shock. "What. Are. You. Doing," she hissed, right in his ear. He was simultaneously offended and amused that she thought he was serious. "I've seen you do some scary stuff this week, but, ah, I draw the line at cannibalism."

"It's not cannibalism," Cehirse replied, matter-of-factly, "none of them are my species. I could even eat you and it would be fine."

"You've gotta be  _kidding_ me," she groaned.

Tumar looked appropriately horrified. "Me hear right?" he screamed at the otherwise unfazed Slestak. "This Sith say he  _eat me!"_

"Yes, I heard that as well," Slestak confirmed. "Do you really mean to eat us if you kill us?"

"Sure." Cehirse cocked his head at them and gave a little shrug. "Don't you eat what you kill?" Vette's eyes widened; he sensed her relief, then her near-giddy delight. It was vaguely intoxicating. 

Meanwhile, the mercenaries were distraught. "Uh, not the peoples me kills, no," Tumar answered. 

"How wasteful," Cehirse admonished him. 

"I don't get paid enough to fight a monster," Slestak decided. He and his men started to withdraw from their positions. "I take my leave of you, Sith."

"Me not want to be breakfast, either!" Tumar and his mercenaries also began to depart. "We leave, boys." 

Cehirse did something unprecedented - he let them go. "A wise choice, both of you." A win/win/win situation: he was pleased, Vette was relieved, Baras got his carbonite man, and the mercenaries weren't horribly executed. 

"It's a day of firsts, then," Slestak remarked, "a merciful Sith, and Tumar being called wise." 

"Oh, that true," Tumar agreed. "What it mean, 'wise'?"

"I'll explain it to you later, brute," Slestak groaned. With that, both mercenary groups were gone. 

"Well done!" Commander Lanklyn exclaimed. "I can't believe they bought a bluff like that. They really thought you'd eat them." Right, yes, bluff, Vette thought. 

"Violence is not always the answer," he replied coolly. Unless you asked, 'Hey, Cehirse, what's the answer to this mundane question?' But Vette was appeased by this, though she continued to regard him with more wariness than he'd like. 

"That's...unusual," she managed. 

"You're much more versatile than the average Sith, my Lord." 

"It was similar to pulling a leg off a live insect," Cehirse explained, "then growing somewhat attached to it in the process, so you let it hobble off on five limbs instead of just squishing it."

Vette buried her face into her palms. "You are _so_ incredibly messed up." 

* * *

"Lanklyn informed me of the ambush at the cargo port," Baras said, "apparently there are more eyes on us than even I thought." 

The return to the Sith Sanctum had been uneventful. Vette had been in high spirits up until they'd reached the entrance; her mood seemed to go rapidly downhill the longer they stayed. 

"I have sensed a disturbance in the Force," Darth Baras continued, "it leaves doom imprinted on my dreams - a grave and mysterious threat that could bring down my entire power base." Baras turned to face his newest acquisition, which was now hanging on his office wall; when they'd first seen it, Vette had to bite back a comment about Sith's concept of decoration. "This frozen man is a top Republic agent captured while investigating my most deeply embedded spy on Nar Shaddaa, one of my invisibles. The Force grants me a vision of doom, and immediately, my untraceable spy, who has left no footprints, no trail, is almost exposed. It makes me _furious_."

Cehirse had expected more from Baras than a monologue. His blood itched. "Instead of whining,  _do_ something about it."

"Oh, I'll do something about it; one of the things that I do best: torture." Vette glanced at Cehirse, hoping against her better judgment that he would have some negative reaction to his master's statement. He had none. "I must learn what tipped off the Republic agent. He is the key to uncovering the nature of this threat." Baras pressed the buttons at the base of the carbonite block; there was a small _whoosh_ , indicating the thawing process had begun. "Now, while I thaw the prisoner and painfully siphon every morsel of information I can from him, I have some concerns that require your special talents." Namely, evisceration, Vette assumed.

"Tell me what I must do."

Vette sighed. "No rest for the wicked, I guess." Cehirse frowned at that. 

"Go to the Imperial post in the jungles outside the city. Commander Pritch is stationed there; he has a seek and destroy task for you."

Cehirse bristled, remembering Lanklyn. "I don't take orders from lackeys."

"Pritch is merely relaying information, apprentice," Baras responded. "I must attend to the torturing of this miserable Republic agent. Waste no time! I have more for you to do once this is complete. You are dismissed." Cehirse bowed; Vette did not. 


	7. Fear and Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning for briefly-viewed/discussion of torture.

The Unfinished Colossus certainly lived up to its name. A stone likeness (though not a particularly good one) of the Dark Councillor Darth Vowrawn, commissioned by one of his apprentices. Construction had been stalled by a massive slave rebellion several years ago. Forces were at a stalemate, since Vowrawn didn't want to divert too much attention to the site of his apprentice's failure, and the slaves kept receiving weapons from a mysterious source. The statue had been a work in progress when Cehirse had first visited Dromund Kaas as a child. It appeared to be even less complete now than it had then. 

As it turned out, Darth Baras was the one responsible for arming the slaves, who were now threatening to expose his involvement if they didn't get better weapons. 

"I'll kill every slave I see," Cehirse assured Commander Pritch. 

Vette coughed. "Present company excluded. I hope."

Cehirse ignored her. Pritch gave him the slave captains' approximate coordinates, which were roughly around statue-Vowrawn's feet. 

They left the relative safety of the Imperial camp. Lightning crackled overhead, occasionally punctuated by peals of thunder. Across the bridge to the work-site were over a thousand slaves. 

"Takes guts to sit here and wait, don't ya think?" Vette said sarcastically, once they were barely within hearing range. "All those scary slaves with their peashooters, threatening the poor soldiers." 

"Discuss it with the commander. I'm sure he'd appreciate the constructive criticism." 

She shrugged. "Nah, I think I'll let him live in shame." 

* * *

Back in Baras' office, the prisoner had been thawed and was in the process of being thoroughly tortured. Cehirse could feel that the Living Force of the immediate area was being twisted to keep the prisoner alive; he turned to share this information with Vette, only to glimpse the horrified expression on her face. 

"I didn't know bodies could bend like that." She retched slightly. "I think I'm gonna be sick." 

Imperceptibly, something fractured inside Cehirse. Vette looked so disturbed by the display. So frightened. So  _strong_ , in the face of it. Torture was a reality in the Empire; it had been foolish for him to assume she'd be all right. "Turn away," he heard himself tell her, "you shouldn't have to see this." He wondered how much torture she'd witnessed in the jails on Korriban - enough for her to be able to barely stomach the sight of it? How was she not totally numb yet? 

She retched again. "Don't mind if I do." 

Cehirse received Darth Baras' orders, sneaking peeks at Vette as he did. She wasn't listening to Baras; she was watching the prisoner still writhing on the interrogation table, compassion, fear, and hints of hatred burning in her eyes. He couldn't tell whom exactly the hatred was directed towards, though for the time being he guessed it was the Sith Empire in general, not any individual. Not himself. He hoped. 

Vette was uncharacteristically silent as they left the building for the day. Finally, she asked Cehirse, "Do you think you'll ever get that into causing pain?"

"It's a possibility." He sensed her dissatisfaction with his answer, and it infuriated him, but he clamped it down. "Pain fuels passion. The pain of others is the easiest to extract. It's the Sith way. I may not personally enjoy it, yet there's no changing that." 

"You could've stopped your master from bleeding that man dry." There was loathing in her voice.

"No, I couldn't have. And, more, importantly, why would I _want_ to?"

"Ever heard of doing onto others what you'd want done onto you?"

"Yes." Cehirse frowned at her. "It's a silly concept. For one, pain and pleasure are subjective terms."

"I'm pretty sure the guy was in pain just now." No response. "C'mon, you don't even have a reason to be all graah-raah angry with him like Baras does. I wanna know how your brain works, 'cause you've been super confusing so far." More unresponsiveness, now vaguely menacing. "Help me serve you better or something." 

"If someone fails to protect themselves, especially from what's known to be one of the cruelest forces in the galaxy, then they deserve to be punished for their lack of foresight. Torture is simply another method of exerting a superior will over the weaker." 

"Yada, yada, yada. What really bugs me is that the Empire's always going on about the importance of the individual's will, but when it's convenient for you, you ignore all that and start torturing the crap out of someone like they aren't...aren't  _alive._  Like they don't have their own hopes and thoughts. Like they're just things for you to hit until something useful falls out. And you can't say it's a fair competition of wills or whatever, because it's usually one guy against the whole system." She stood in place and shook her head, bewildered and angry; Cehirse kept walking. "How does that work? What kind of mental gymnastics do you have to pull off to reconcile what you claim to believe with what you actually do?" 

"I don't  _know_ , Vette. Stop asking me." 

She snorted. “Typical. You’re all talk when you’re going on about your power and might, but once the conversation turns to the little guys you shut down-”

Cehirse pivoted abruptly to face her, teeth bared. “You _will_ remember who you’re speaking to." She opened her mouth, to protest. "Silence! You live or die by my hand, Twi’lek," he spat. 

“Okay, okay!” Vette backed away. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were so - I mean, I thought - I’m really sorry. Forget I said anything.”

He seethed in silence and avoided eye contact with Vette throughout the rest of the walk and in the turbolift to the apartment, face contorting into a rapidly deepening scowl. By the time they set foot in the living room, Vette was wholly convinced that he was going to kill her in the most painful way possible. Instead, Cehirse sat in one of the cushioned chairs - displacing a decade's worth of dust - and glowered at her, guardedly. 

“I...apologise,” he forced himself to ground out, clutching the armrests so tightly that the fabric ripped. Vette had to do a triple-take. He was genuinely contrite; no games, not now. “I forget myself, sometimes. Often.”

She exhaled in relief as she sagged onto the next nearest chair. “Hey, I’m just glad you didn’t kill me!” she said cheerfully. “Thanks.”

“You’re the first non-Force sensitive person I’ve ever spent such a long time in close proximity to. It’s been - enlightening.”

“I’m super annoying, aren’t I?”

“Yes. But I haven’t truly felt the urge to murder you yet, which is surprising.” Cehirse winced. “You’re not a Force-user, so you can’t possibly understand how tiring social interactions are for me. Now I receive a sort of feedback in the Force regarding you; I know how you feel about most things, even on the rare occasions when you don’t vocalize your thoughts. It’s distracting.”

“Sounds tough. Do you get mental pluses and minuses? Like you’re playing pazaak with my approval?” He looked confused. “Never mind.”

"The strangest part is that I find myself caring what you think.”

“Yeah.” Vette examined him as if he was an interesting specimen. “That’s...what happens when you spend a lot of time with someone.”

“No, you don’t grasp why I’m so upset.” Cehirse pointedly stared Vette in the eyes; and she did have lovely eyes, he noted, a light grey bordering on metallic. “I’m trying very hard to manipulate you. It isn’t working.”

Vette cocked her head. “Uh, I dunno how to tell you this, but manipulation usually doesn’t involve telling your target that you’re trying to manipulate them.”

“Well, servitude usually doesn’t involve telling your Sith boss what does or does not constitute proper manipulation,” Cehirse retorted, voice beginning to rise again, “so I believe we’re even.”

“‘Boss’?”

“What?”

“You called yourself my boss, not my master.”

He blinked at her. “The documents may say otherwise, however, in terms of what matters - mind and soul, and such - you are your own master. You haven't even tried to rebel in the same way those slaves have, because you know that your willpower can withstand mine. Effortlessly." She almost seemed flattered at his admission. “It’s insufferable. That’s why I’m trying to manipulate you.”

“I’m going to bed,” Vette announced shortly.

* * *

En route to Lord Grathan's estate, Cehirse sensed that someone was following them. From the look on her face, he could tell that Vette noticed it, too.

“Another Kubaz?” she suggested, in a whisper.

“I’m certain they're all dead.”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” Vette lightly slapped her forehead with her palm. “Forgot who I was talking to for a second, there.”

Cehirse halted in his tracks, whirled around, and grabbed at the air. A stealth generator frizzed out as he ended up catching someone by the throat: a Chiss man, dressed in official Imperial fatigues. 

"Definitely not a Kubaz," Vette observed. 

"I am the primary apprentice and enforcer of Darth Baras. I am the sole remaining scion of the ancient families Siqsa and Dzwol. And I could kill you, right here, with my mind," Cehirse snarled. "You have three seconds to start talking, Chiss." 

"If you'd _let me_  instead of reciting genealogy, maybe I could explain properly -" the Chiss paused, appeared to weigh his options, then added, “ _Sith_.”

“I like him,” Vette announced, “can we keep him?” Cehirse fixed her with a withering glare. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

“I’d let you keep me, gorgeous," the Chiss purred. 

“You know what, I take it back." Vette cracked her knuckles. “Let’s kill him.” As instructed, Cehirse reached for a lightsaber with his free hand; Vette suddenly grabbed his wrist. Sith and Twi'lek gaped at each other. “No, wait! I, uh, take back my taking back. I mean, he might be a creep, but I don't want him to die." 

“Make up your mind," Cehirse snapped. To the Chiss, he demanded, “Your name. Now!”

“Intelligence Agent Montgomery. Pleasure to meet you, my Lord.” The Chiss tilted his head as far as he was able. “Montgomery is my name, not ‘Intelligence Agent’. It’s ‘Monty’ for short - that is, short for ‘Montgomery’, not ‘Intelligence Agent’.”

“Yes, I understood.” Cehirse was entirely unconvinced. “That’s a terribly Imperial name for a Chiss.”

“It is!” Monty agreed. “How odd. It’s almost as if I work for a branch of government which specializes in secrecy. Oh, wait a minute…”

Cehirse’s grip tightened.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Vette said, in a bored voice. "Please don’t do that. Oh, no.”

“I might kill you instead,” Cehirse threatened, very lamely.

“With what?" she challenged. "Crushing predictability?”

Cehirse glared at her and opened his fist; Monty fell to the jungle floor, covering his mouth politely as he gasped for air. 

"I take it Sandor didn't send you, then," he managed to rasp, after nearly hacking up a lung. 

"Sandor?" Cehirse repeated. "Darth Charnus' apprentice? No. In fact, last I overheard at the Citadel, he tried to strike at Charnus for some insane reason and got himself detained." 

"Good." Monty spoke as if he hadn't just been choked within an inch of his life by the Sith he was currently addressing. "Not that I'm pleased with young Sandor's imprisonment, but I do hate it when ops collide, especially the Sith's with Intelligence." He stood, brushed grass off his lap. "Have you heard of Darth Revan, my Lord?"

"In passing." 

"I know a bit about Revan," Vette volunteered. She reveled in the incredulous stares she earned. "He's a bigger deal in the Republic, 'cause he was Jedi and Sith at different parts of his life, before settling as a nontraditional Jedi. Duality and all. Good stuff." Cehirse waited, patiently, for the inevitable onslaught of her opinion. "I think he's cool." 

“Why does a thief know of Sith philosophy?” Cehirse questioned.

“Hey, I had to do some research for the Korriban job,” Vette replied defensively. “You do know Naga Sadow wasn’t as mind-bogglingly _racist_ as the rest of you Sith, right?”

“‘You Sith’,” Cehirse echoed, in distaste, “please be hypocritical far, far away from me.”

“I meant the order, not the race. Besides, racism is an institution, especially in the Empire. You can’t be racist towards a species already in a position of power.”

Monty looked thoughtful. "That's a fairly decent point."

" _You'd_ think so," Cehirse grumbled. 

"Anyway," Monty continued, "I was scouting the area until you two wandered by. There's a compound of cultists nearby. Heretical. Dangerous. They call themselves the Order of Revan, or the 'Revanites'. While my understanding is that they don't entirely subscribe to the man's philosophy, their beliefs still pose a threat to the Sith religion and, by extension, the cohesiveness of the Empire."

"The dark side isn't meant to be worshiped," Cehirse interrupted, "it's a way of life."

"Right." Monty stared at Cehirse blankly. "Religion. As I was saying, it's ridiculously difficult to catch these cultists in the act, because they have members in high positions, including Moffs and Sith Lords. Our best bet has been sending young, seemingly impressionable people to infiltrate the compound as initiates. Darth Charnus had basically the same idea, but Intelligence is afraid that his more heavy-handed approach could destroy valuable evidence. I know you're traveling towards Lord Grathan's estate. I don't suppose I could interest you in a stop along the way?"

Cehirse's jaw clenched. His mother had always told him to be wary of exceptionally strange men and members of Imperial Intelligence. Usually, they were the same thing. "I don't know. I have other business." 

"It won't take long to gauge if they'd accept you, and we'd proceed from there. Merely trying couldn't hurt. I'm aware of how Darth Baras operates - he would appreciate you showing initiative, I think."  

"I suppose that makes sense. But," Cehirse added craftily, "you're aware that Baras would also appreciate knowing what interest Imperial Intelligence has in this." 

"Thinning dissidents. You've heard of the recent terrorist attack." Monty was referring to the explosion of the flagship  _Dominator_ over Kaas City a month earlier, killing Dark Councillor Darth Jadus and the thousand passengers onboard. It'd been a huge deal back on Korriban; fights had broken out, tables overturned, Imperial officers kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. Cehirse and Raelen hadn't participated in the chaos. They'd been too busy playing dejarik and insulting each other. 

"I have," Cehirse responded, "and as I understand it, that was an Intelligence mistake."

Monty remained straight-faced; Cehirse sensed him bristling. "A mistake which, with all due respect, a city of Sith Lords failed to detect." 

Vette heartily contributed, "You're all nuts. Each and every single one of you. Take it from the Twi'lek slave." 

"I could easily slaughter everyone in the compound, you know," Cehirse pointed out, in an attempt to assert dominance over either or both of these disagreeable blue aliens. It failed. 

"Ah, suicidal overconfidence," Monty remarked wistfully. "I like that in Sith. But my superiors would prefer to avoid the power vacuum which tends to occur whenever you massacre a group full of influential figures, heretics though they may be. I imagine yours do, too." Cehirse rolled his eyes. Spoilsport. "We only need to identify and remove their leader, the so-called 'Master'. It's a contained cult of personality. Cut off the head and the limbs are useless." 

"That's how most organics work, yeah," Vette chirped, "except Gen'Dai. Cut off the head, and the limbs use it to beat you to death before they reattach it." 

"I've never fought a Gen'Dai," Cehirse commented.

Monty eyed them, his irritation somehow apparent despite his opaque red eyes. "Well, aren't you a darling couple." That shut them up, for now. “Fun fact: there was another Sith apprentice who came by recently, intending to infiltrate the Revanites for Sandor. A heavily tattooed red Twi’lek - what you’d call Lethan, I believe? I didn't interfere with her mission. Then, she ended up converting instead.”

Cehirse rubbed deep circles onto his temples with both thumbs. “Of course she did.”

"You have a weird-ass concept of fun," Vette told Monty. 

Monty fished something out of his pocket: a metal token, emblazoned with the Aurebesh symbol 'Resh'. He held it out to Cehirse. "So, do you want to give it a go?"

Cehirse squared his shoulders, glanced at Vette. Darth Baras would be pleased, the Empire would be more secure, and there may be opportunities to skew Vette to his will; skew, because she could not even be bent.

"I may as well," he said.  


	8. Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Thirty Gambit Pileup occurs. Or an Around Five, Give or Take Gambit Pileup. Whichever.

Cehise had made his way through the jungle on his own, located and entered the Revanites' sacred cave  - an easy task, but he was slowly beginning to notice that he'd gotten used to fighting alongside Vette. Every time he parried the slashing of claws or deflected blasterfire back to its source, he kept pausing, reflexively waiting for a well-placed plasma bolt to punctuate his movements. This was bad. Years of training were unraveling before his eyes; he was fighting like he wasn't alone, as if he had something to rely on other than his own strength. 

He was at the heart of the cave now, surrounded by fresh gundark corpses and firelight. A bronze statue stood before him, masked and cloaked; clearly of neither traditional Sith or Republic design, because it wasn't wielding a weapon nor beckoning him with outstretched arms. Cehirse stepped closer. Strange devices were scattered around the shrine - they resembled the ancient holocrons he'd seen on Korriban, but he was no archaeologist. In the Force, he could feel lingering traces of Raelen's presence here, tinged with awe and pain and respect he hadn't sensed from her ever before. 

The Force also told him that Vette would have had some comment about this statue. He shoved the thought aside, vehemently. 

Cehirse knelt before the statue and started to meditate, as was standard Sith procedure when confronted with an ominously lit shrine in the middle of a sacred cave. Ritualistic blood sacrifice was usually the next step, but he decided to wait for a few minutes before fashioning the gundark corpses into an effigy and burning them. His patience would be the death of him one day, he swore.

A wall of flames manifested behind him. He turned, and saw a figure resembling the statue, walking through the fire. When he ignited his lightsabers, the figure dispersed into airborne purple particles, each of which fanned out and came to rest around the shrine. Suddenly, arcs of electricity similar to Force lightning shot out of every strange device at once - he was unable to block them them all, and succumbed to the intense pain of being electrocuted. His mind was blissfully empty as the world went black. 

* * *

Meanwhile, while Cehirse departed for the Revanite Shrine, Vette was to wait outside the compound. The Order allowed members to own slaves - which was very un-Revan-like, she thought, but she supposed people found ways to screw up a decent thing regardless of where you were in the galaxy. Making a run for it didn’t even cross her mind; there was untamed jungle as far as the eye could see, accompanied by the sound of vicious wildlife rumbling distressingly close. No thanks. 

She faintly heard a nearby twig snapping.

“I’m trying to be sporting,” Agent 'Monty' explained, as his stealth generator powered down. To her credit, Vette only almost whirled around to instinctively punch him in the face. “Anywho-” Who the hell actually said _anywho_? “- Vette, right? I have a proposition for you.”

“Ew. No.”

“Listen, first. Goodness. How would you feel about filing regular reports on your master and his master? Say, to help a wholly legitimate organisation, no less?”

She tilted her head. She knew a job offer when she heard one. “Why would I wanna do that?”

“For fun and profit.”

Vette grinned. “Hey, two of my favourite things!” Then, her grin faded just as quickly as it had appeared. “Nope."

"We've been trying to get a solid read on Darth Baras for some time. He's a tricky one."

"Huh. Must be the mask," she said, without sympathy. 

"Yes," Monty agreed, openly examining her face, "or it could be his convoluted personal spy network getting in our way." 

"Wait, you know about that?"

"I didn't for sure." He flicked a credit chit at her in a patronizing manner. "Don't spend it all in one place, sweetheart." 

Okay, that was it. Vette unholstered a blaster from her belt and aimed it at Monty. He watched, unflinching. "Anyone ever tell you you're a condescending dick?"

"Always." Monty flashed her a coy smile. "Come on, Vette. Think of your people. Think of millions of fellow Twi'leks and other alien slaves; think of what they'd give to be in your place. I'm presenting you with a rare opportunity to make the best of your situation. Don't you want to stick it to the Empire?" 

She lowered her blaster slightly. "Yeah, sure, sticking it to the evil Empire...by selling secrets to a bunch of Imperials?  _Asshole_ Imperials?" 

Monty shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot. You're not nearly as -" he paused, making a show of searching for the right word, " - spirited as I first thought." 

Vette had spent a week fending off Cehirse's weak version of manipulation. She dimly recognised that she was still being baited, so she held her tongue, settled for coldly lifting her blaster again. 

"You're trying to stay calm," Monty observed gleefully, "you hate me, yet you refuse to fire at me, on principle. A drive for self-preservation; quick to act, but not foolishly so. That might explain why you stay with the Sith, and why you're unwilling to betray him or his kind. With a bit of training, you'd be a fantastic agent, you know." 

"You really like hearing yourself talk."

"Observant, too!" 

"Wrap it up. My arm's starting to cramp."

“In exchange for your cooperation, we can protect you.” His upper lip curled in distaste. “A word of advice, as one unwilling alien immigrant to another: if you're dealing with these self-entitled young Sith riding on the coattails of their ancestors, you’ll need it.”

To her surprise, Vette found herself saying, “Cehirse isn't like that.” She lowered her blaster again, for good this time. 

“Is that so?” Monty raised an eyebrow. “Then what, pray tell, is he like?”

“Confused,” she answered, honestly. “Ignorant. Usually bloodthirsty, but he hasn’t hurt me. I don’t think he’s evil - well, not yet, 'cause the lack of red eyes or bad skin is kinda a dead giveaway. That info was on the house, by the way." 

“How helpful. For the record, I think you’ll survive long enough to understand how the Empire works.”

"I already figured that out!" Vette flashed him her brightest, most fake smile. “It doesn’t."

"Oh, look." Monty pointed over her shoulder. In the distance, four robed figures were carrying the unconscious Cehirse into the Revanite compound. "Your master has returned. And they didn't retrieve him in a body bag like they usually do, which is a good sign." 

* * *

When Cehirse regained consciousness an hour later, he shoved the Revanites' medical droid aside and immediately left the compound. His alien subordinates were exactly where he'd left them, though Monty was in plain sight now. 

"Vette," Cehirse snapped, "come along." He wanted her to be there when he made his report to the Elder Revanite, Jhorval - he understood the feelings left in Raelen's signature, couldn't wait to express them, because he was sure that Vette would react favourably. 

"Hey there, boss." Vette jerked her thumb back towards Monty. "Soooo, Monty here tried to bribe me to spy on you and Baras."

Cehirse barely thought it worthwhile to glare at him. "Unsurprising."

"Y'know, for an Imperial Intelligence guy, you aren't very smart," Vette commented. 

"My Lord, the slave has proven to be loyal," Monty said smoothly. "You're welcome." 

Two pairs of eyes widened. Vette turned, and jabbed an accusatory finger at Cehirse. "You," she grumbled. With a sinking feeling, Cehirse realised that he still hadn't earned her trust. How dare she! After all his manipulation!

Cehirse turned, and jabbed an accusatory finger at Monty. "You," he growled.

"Me," Monty concurred. 

"Vette, I assure you, at no point did I instruct this man to test your loyalty." He'd managed to make that claim straight-faced, Cehirse noted, with fleeting pride. 

"Yeah? Then how'd he know how to pile on all that crap about 'my people'?"

That specific detail hadn't been part of his orders. "Perhaps he was speaking from experience." Cehirse prodded at Monty's mind for a weak spot, or at least a name he could use to throw him off-balance. No dice. The Force really was testing him lately. "He never specified that you were to spy for Imperial Intelligence...did he?" he added, hastily, when Vette narrowed her eyes. "Maybe it's related to the covert operations the Chiss Ascendancy have been running in our territory." 

Now it was Monty's turn to stare at him, calm, cool, and oh-so telling. "What does Baras know about that?'  

Cehirse suppressed his triumphant smile. "Nothing, yet." 

Vette flicked the credit chit back at Monty. "Don't spend it all in one place, sweetheart." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's going on (wait, what are they doing here, again?):
> 
> 1) Vette isn't exactly attached to Cehirse, but she's not silly enough to spy on a Sith, *unlike* **some*** ****companions****
> 
> 2) Cehirse is failing hard at this whole planned-manipulation thing. He also assumes that every non-Force-sensitive in the Empire who isn't a slave must believe in the sovereignty of the Sith. Before going to the cave, he asked 'Monty' to test Vette's loyalty for him. This would all be fine and well, except -
> 
> 3) Monty (actually Watcher Five) is genuinely trying to get Vette to spy on Cehirse and Darth Baras for Imperial Intelligence...but he's also a double agent for the Chiss Ascendancy. Which Cehirse just learned, accidentally, when Monty tried to turn Vette against Cehirse. 
> 
> 4) Darth Baras' spy network frequently gets mixed up with Imperial Intelligence. 
> 
> 5) The Empire is a mess full of jerks.


	9. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cehirse cleans up Raelen's Light Side mess, contributes to a larger mess, and reminds everyone that he's a Marauder.

"So," Cehirse began.

"Um," Vette said. 

"This is awkward," Monty muttered.

The three of them stared at each other for several uncomfortable seconds. 

"Truce?" Vette ventured. The expressions on both of the Imperial-aligned men's faces suggested that they'd never heard that word used seriously before. 

Cehirse glared at Monty. "We'll resolve this once the Revanites have been dealt with." 

"If by 'resolve' you mean 'smash' and by 'this' you mean 'your head', then yeah, later," Vette added. Cehirse's glare transferred towards her. Monty shrugged, and gestured for them to move along. 

* * *

Back at the Revanite compound, Cehirse reported in to Jhorval; the elder Revanite received him with open arms. Cehirse stayed pointedly rooted at a safe distance. "Dripping with the blood of the womb, you are reborn," Jhorval recited, "your old life, everything you were - all of it is dead, buried inside that cave." 

More nonsensical cultist drivel, he thought. "Sure. Whatever you say." 

"You are free now! Free of everything you once were. Savour the moment. It won't come again. Tell me how it feels; your obligations have vanished, your past no longer burdens you. How does it feel to see the world, reborn?" 

"Like I've never killed before," Cehirse answered, with as much confidence as possible. He was telling the truth. It wasn't  _peace_ , exactly - peace is a lie and all - but it wasn't war. It was acceptance; being submerged in finality, remembering obligations, but distantly, as if hearing muffled noises from above the water. And Vette approved. Of course she did; there was no way she could understand the significance of each kill.

It was a common misconception that the Sith didn't 'believe' in the value of a life. On the contrary, to the Sith - both race and religion - the intrinsic worth of every life taken meant that yours had more. Granted, getting drunk on the dark side tended to warp this viewpoint into a red blur of aimless homicidal rage, but there were some complicated dynamics behind the whole thing. Feeling as if you'd never killed before was akin to being a baby: innocent, weak, full of potential; waiting to kill anew. 

* * *

For his next trial, Cehirse was beckoned over by a Pureblood woman who was kneeling beneath the shade of a large tree. The other Revanites seemed to be steering clear of her, like minnows swimming around a shark. 

"I am Ladra, a protector of the Order," she introduced herself. "Come and sit for a while."

Cehirse remained standing. "I'm here about my initiation." 

"Ah, yes. Every Revanite's initiation includes a trial of the past - a rite to bind the initiate to Revan. Yours will involve the mask of Revan," Ladra breathed, "I want it." 

He held up a hand to stop her from speaking further. "You want me to retrieve the mask from some conveniently nearby location?" he asked, with a bored expression on his face - he made no pretense of having respect for these people; consequently, they had no reason to suspect his motives. 

"Actually, no." Cehirse and Vette looked taken aback. "The mask is already in Revanite hands," Ladra explained, "our most recent addition recovered it from Grathan and brought it to the compound." Her whole face suddenly twitched with restrained fury. "That damned Twi'lek!" Ladra fumed. "She had the mask, but against my exact wishes, she gave it to our curator! The fool won't even let me see it, much less harness its dark power." 

Cehirse rubbed his temples with both thumbs, again. "Of course she did," he sighed again. 

Then, like whiplash, Ladra was disconcertingly serene. "In my past life, I would have simply killed Torrun and taken what I desire. However, that is not the Revanite way. I plan to trade another artifact for the mask. You will get the artifact for me, and in return, I will tell the others that you've passed your Second Trial." 

"We have an agreement, then." 

"The artifact is called a 'mindspear', a Rakatan device infused with the power of the dark side. It's located within the inner sanctum of Lord Grathan's estate."

"'Course it is," Vette said. 

As they prepared to depart, Cehirse found himself wondering about the Revanites' personal motives. "What use could a cultist have for a Rakatan device?" he questioned, mostly to himself, though he stared at Vette as if he was asking her. "Grathan's known for collecting many different kinds of artifacts. Why not have me retrieve something else related to Darth Revan? Such a trade would make more sense." 

"There's only so many fake relics you can sell a bunch of kooks. Eventually you have to start making stuff up." 

"Speaking from personal experience?" 

"Maaaaaybe." 

* * *

Lord Grathan's estate had been broken into several times earlier that month. As a result, Grathan's defenses had dwindled, and there was even talk within the Imperial forces of a final push to seize the estate. Naturally, this was all very upsetting for Cehirse, who'd been looking forward to executing traitors. 

Instead, he and Vette easily crossed the courtyard. A lone battle droid noticed them and lifted its blaster; without looking, Cehirse Force-pulled the blaster out of its hands and telekinetically used the weapon to smash its head in.

"This is the worst day of my life," he said, with deep sincerity.

"Didn't your mom die right in front of you or something?" Vette reminded him. 

"That was  _sad,_ not a crushing disappointment."

Darth Baras had an inside man named Dri'kill Ba'al, who was stationed as a security chief within Grathan's warehouse. The warehouse was denser with enemies than outside, but not satisfactorily so. Every droid posted nearby was dispatched within record time, before the alarms could be sounded.

At first sight, Ba'al and Cehirse hated each other, as was typical when two young Sith met, even more so when they shared the same master.

"You must be the operative Lord Baras sent," Ba'al said. The curtness of his voice indicated that he was already angling for a fight; Cehirse was immediately on the defensive. "I thought he'd choose a stealthy assassin, not some senseless savage." 

"Watch who you're calling a savage," Cehirse snarled. 

"You're not talking to one of Baras' Imperial peons. I'll be working for him long after you've worn out your welcome," Ba'al claimed. 

They could go at it right there, but Cehirse took a calming breath, Vette noted with relief. "I don't have time for this nonsense," he said. 

"You're right. We can pick up hating each other once the business here is complete."

"Gladly."

Ba'al described Grathan's defenses in minute detail. He explained that he'd spent the past year spying on the estate on behalf of Darth Baras, searching for something to use against the seemingly implacable man. Finally, he leaned in and declared, rather dramatically, "Lord Grathan has a son."

Cehirse couldn't help the small laugh he gave. "Maybe in another year, you can find out his shoe size." 

"He wears boots, not shoes, smart mouth," Ba'al snapped. 

"Boots  _are_ shoes," Vette protested. "What sort of weird universe do you live in where boots aren't shoes? What do you think they are, gloves? Hats?" 

As usual, she was ignored by the human - though this time, Cehirse shot her a passing grateful look.

"I was assigned to find Grathan's weakness," Ba'al continued, "he's kept his son a secret in order to protect him from his enemies. Grathan would be devastated if his only child and heir was dead - that would send a message."

Cehirse stiffened. "I'm no baby-killer."

"We're not talking about a baby here," Ba'al replied testily, "Grathan's kid is nearly twenty, and strong with the Force. He's been trained in the ways of the Sith since birth. You'll have your hands full." 

"I highly doubt it." As the hidden sole heir to an established Sith bloodline, the Grathan boy was likely sheltered and overconfident in his abilities - much like Cehirse had been, prior to Korriban. (And still was, reluctant as he may be to admit it.) This sort of upbringing was common among the nobility. Cehirse at least had the slight advantage of experience. 

"All right. Maybe underestimating your foes works for you." Ba'al handed over a hacked spike to access Grathan's quarters, then told him to knock out the sanctum's surveillance cameras in order to avoid detection. "Think you can handle that, brute?" 

"Keep calling me names, Ba'al," Cehirse warned. "You're playing with fire."

"Is it so easy to get under your skin?" Ba'al crowed. 

"Not usually," Vette took the liberty of answering for Cehirse, who was currently too incensed to come up with a biting retort, "and boy, do I try. You're just super annoying." 

"That's all, then. Destroy the monitoring stations, then get inside Grathan's private quarters. The son's name is Beelzlit. Find him, and end him." Ba'al turned heel and stalked off. "I'll meet you back here when you're done. Try not to screw up."

Cehirse glared daggers at his retreating figure. 

"I kinda like his attitude," Vette admitted. 

"What, obnoxious and too disagreeable for his continued survival?" 

"Well, when you put it that way..." 

* * *

As soon as they set foot in Beelzlit's chambers, Cehirse stopped dead in his tracks. There were two people inside: a teenage boy whom he assumed was Beelzlit, and a stately-looking older woman wearing the most ridiculous hat he had ever seen, who appeared to be in the middle of lecturing the boy. There was a lightsaber holstered on her belt. 

"Ba'al didn't tell me the mother would be here," Cehirse growled. He could sense the overwhelming love this Force-sensitive woman had for the boy; possessive, manipulative, yes, but love nonetheless. He recognised it from memories of his own mother. 

Beelzlit was the one who noticed them: "Mother, strangers approach." 

"You don't know the half of it, kid," Vette said.

The mother turned around; her eyes met Cehirse's, already blazing with fury. "I am Cellvanta Grathan. How dare you enter my son's room uninvited! Who are you?" 

"Step aside," Cehirse demanded. Not that he believed she would, he acknowledged, with an unwelcome heavy feeling. "I'm here for the boy." 

"You'll have to kill me first!" Cellvanta moved in front of Beelzlit, Force-pulling her lightsaber into her hand as she went. "And while my son is still an acolyte, I am fully Sith." 

"I suppose I should be trembling," Cehirse said. 

"Soon your corpse will be twitching." Cellvanta ignited her lightsaber and entered a battle stance. "Beelzlit," she called. "Take cover!"

The boy remained beside her. "No, Mother! I stand at your side! Attack!" 

Sabers clashed, red on red, joined by the buzz of Beelzlit's cortosis blade. To Vette's satisfaction, she was able to take Beelzlit down with an incapacitating shot to the legs; Cellvanta soon proved to be no match for Cehirse, who judiciously refrained from killing her just yet. Mother and son knelt on the floor, beaten. Cehirse waited for them to get back up and attack again. 

"Stop!" Beelzlit cried, instead. "You are more than a match for us! Mother, if I am the target, save yourself. I don't want to see you die." 

Vette's jaw dropped. "Wait, what?" This was the most vaguely touching display she'd seen ever since they'd arrived on Dromund Kaas - she  _really_ needed to get off-planet. 

"My son, you must not sacrifice yourself for anyone - not even me. You must endure at all costs."  Cellvanta squinted at Cehirse. "I recognise you. You're Odojinya's boy, yes?" He nodded warily. "Your mother and I weren't close, but we were well acquainted enough. So! You've carved your way into the inner sanctum of my husband's compound, all to kill a boy? You are a breath away from the master himself. Spare us, and I'll help you destroy Lord Grathan. If you're anything like your parents were," Cellvanta added, "then you'll jump at the opportunity." 

It seemed she hadn't known his father very well, if at all. "You want me to kill your husband?" Cehirse asked flatly. "Aren't you the dutiful wife." 

"I married my husband for power. It was a means to an end. Recently, he's worn out his use. Look around you." Cellvanta scoffed. "People keep breaching the estate. His apprentices are being slaughtered left and right, disappearing, or getting kidnapped. The head scientist is dead, along with our top leaders. Our new droid army and advanced turrets were both permanently deactivated by intruders. What sort of fool would be loyal to that man?"

Vette couldn't stifle her laugh. Silly Sith and their power plays. 

"Please silence your Twi'lek, dear."

"I'm not your 'dear', lady," Cehirse retorted. 

Cellvanta concluded, unfazed, "I want out. I'm strong, but I can't touch my husband. How long I've waited for someone to end his oppressive rule!"

"If a Sith thinks something is oppressive, it must be pretty bad, huh," Vette commented. 

Cellvanta devised a plan: Grathan always wore a helmeted mask, out of fear of being beheaded. If Cehirse managed to kill him, then Beelzlit could wear the helmet and assume his father's place, with the rest of the Empire none the wiser. Vette noticed several flaws in this plan; namely, the fact that Grathan's forces had been drastically weakened, that there was no way a single estate could hold up under siege for much longer, and that Beelzlit really didn't seem to be the type of person who was able to replicate a dead man's speech patterns. But, hey, more-deserving murder!

In return for assassinating her husband, Cellvanta would give the Rakatan mindspear to Cehirse. Everyone would be happy. Well, except Lord Grathan, but screw him. 

* * *

Within his chambers, Lord Grathan was apparently prepared for them. He was dressed for battle, though he stood at the opposite end of the room, hands clasped behind his back. 

"My uninvited guest finally arrives!" Grathan turned to face the intruders, exposing the facial features of his helmeted mask; it was skeletal in appearance, with razor-sharp metal teeth and red bionic eyes. It was almost droid-like, except far more menacing than any droid could rightfully be. 

Vette jumped at the sight. "Yikes. Guess you and your wife share a love for questionable headgear." 

"Your feelings betray you, youngster," Grathan addressed Cehirse. "I sensed your murderous intentions the moment you entered my sanctum. What's more, your unshielded mind has revealed your accomplice: my loving wife." 

"She sends her love," he deadpanned. 

"Cellvanta is a user, child - she's obsessed with power. It's one of the things that attracted me to her, but it's outgrown its amusement. I am death itself," Grathan declared. He swept his arms upwards in a grandiose gesture, and crimson orbs of pure Force power emanated from his palms. "Come embrace the darkness!"

"I'd settle for a handshake, thanks!" Vette yelped. She dove for cover behind a pillar as the two Sith moved to engage. 

"Does it sting, old man?" Cehirse taunted, parrying the first few blows with relative ease. "Knowing that your only son chose his mother over you?" 

"Had Cellvanta and my situations been reversed, he would've done the same thing." 

"Does it sting?" Cehirse repeated. Grathan didn't deign to reply. 

Vette was beginning to notice that she had a single distinct advantage in combat: the Sith made the mistake of largely ignoring her in favour of attacking (or monologuing at) Cehirse. Most of her blaster shots were ineffectual - she didn't worry about hitting Cehirse by accident, he was pretty good at deflecting the plasma bolts by now, probably a Force thing - but every now and then a shot would connect, and Grathan would be staggered. That said, Grathan didn't even seem to remember her existence. 

It had been seven minutes. The initial adrenaline rush faded, replaced by tedium; the Sith continued taking turns to slash at each other, in what she assumed was some sporting way of conducting a duel. They also continued trading barbs, the bulk of which involved family or lack thereof. 

"Less talky-talky, more swingy-swingy!" she called. In the split second that Cehirse took to cast her a dirty glare, Grathan backed away at a Force-accelerated speed, then leaped into the air, lightsaber angled downwards...

...and collided with one of her thermal grenades. 

The fight was easier from that point on, by virtue of Grathan being on fire. 

Lord Grathan was thrown all the way across his chambers; Cehirse followed at a steady pace, lightsabers outstretched and ready to kill. The human slumped in the corner, clutching his bleeding side, a dullness of defeat in his halfhearted movements. His weapon clattered to the floor. As he prepared to deal the death blow, Cehirse used the Force to tilt Grathan's chin upwards. 

"Hold on. Before I end your life, let's talk about the mindspear," Cehirse said. "What does it do?"

"I - I think that the Rakata used it to transfer memories between sentients," Grathan wheezed. 

"Good to know. Shall I send your love back to your wife and child?"

Grathan hesitated. "Yes."

"Of course," Cehirse assured him, amiably. Then, he scissored his lightsabers forward in a twin strike, lopping Grathan's head clean off. 

"Huh." Vette came out from her cover, blasters still drawn. She decided to forego the obvious comment about how screwy the Sith were. "Guess that helmet isn't as decapitation-proof as he thought." 

Funny - this victory felt more hollow than he'd anticipated. In fact, it was a greater letdown than Vemrin had been. He stared at the spot where Grathan's head had rolled and observed, "Fear often leads to people putting their faith in foolish things." 

Vette finally holstered her blasters, basking in the wonderful glow of not-being-dead-yet. "Yeah,"  she agreed, "like Sith codes and stuff."

"Not now, Vette," Cehirse groaned. His own head was now pounding in a way he'd never experienced; he felt nothing but emptiness, in a way he'd never thought possible. Had killing lost its meaning to him at some point? _Why?_  Grathan had been a worthy foe - surely his defeat warranted a moment of joy? He needed to do some heavy-duty thinking once they left this wretched estate. 

* * *

"Yes, I sensed my husband's death in the Force. Lord Grathan is no more." Cellvanta let out a girlish giggle. "What pleasure to think that he suffered."

Still, she had been able to sense his death - that meant there had been an emotional connection between husband and wife, however hateful it may have been. ""I took no pleasure in killing him," Cehirse replied, absently. In this new post-battle haze, his judgment was severely impaired. He recalled something about Vette, something about making her laugh. He felt lost. 

"Mother, what does this mean?" Beelzlit asked. "Am I truly to become the master of this house?"

Cellvanta smiled like a prowling jaggalor. "You will wear the mask and assume your father's identity, but you are not yet ready to rule, my dear. The voice will be yours, but the words will be mine." 

"Yeah, that's more like it," Vette said to herself. 

Either Beelzlit didn't notice the glint in his mother's eyes, or he didn't care. "I have longed for my father's death and the chance to claim his power." 

"Be careful what you wish for," Cehirse muttered. 

"Yes, this is a great day," Cellvanta concurred. She passed Cehirse the mindspear; there was a facetiously-placed ribbon tied to the tip of the device. "You have served us well, my new friend."

"Perhaps you could show your appreciation in a more personal manner," Cehirse said, in what he thought was an obvious jest.

To his utter astonishment, Cellvanta cooed, "Aren't you the rogue. You freed me from an inconvenient husband and put me in control of this house." She stepped closer, boldly. "Let me show you my appreciation." Closer. "In private." 

His mouth went dry. Woah, wait a minute-

"Woah, wait a minute," Vette interrupted, "you're not seriously considering this, are you? Any shuttleport in a storm?" She shook her head, genuinely confused. "Is that the kind of guy you are?"

Her metaphor was flawed. Common sense dictated that in an actual storm, you _should_ dock at the nearest available shuttleport. Regardless, there had been no shuttleports nor storms in his life, anyway. This really wasn't his sort of thing.  _That was why it was supposed to be funny_. 

Backtrack, backtrack! “Of course not, Vette,” he said, hastily. He twisted his whole body to face her, Cellvanta and Beelzlit forgotten. “I was only joking.”

“Oh." She exhaled, heavily. "Well. Good.”

“I just killed your husband,” Cehirse told Cellvanta, “in what was quite possibly the toughest fight of my life. One of my Twi’lek’s thermal grenades ignited his cloak and essentially set him on fire. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed -”

“She gets it! Also: _not your_ Twi’lek,” Vette added.

“Right.” Cehirse shook his head. “Sorry.” He didn’t have the time to mentally berate himself for showing weakness, because Lady Grathan did it for him. He rolled his eyes at the woman - within seconds, she'd gone from flirting to mothering him. Pssh. This was _his_ manipulation.

* * *

Midway through their return trip to the Revanite compound, Vette abruptly made Cehirse stop walking. They'd been silent since Dri'kill Ba'al had turned on them and summoned the rest of Grathan's security to attack them, under the pretense of solidifying his cover there for Darth Baras. The fight had been easy enough, though Cehirse's heart hadn't seemed to be into it - he'd only called Ba'al a 'condescending windbag', then attacked as if it was a chore. Strange, since he'd been so eager to kill Ba'al not much earlier. 

“Um, you’ve got a nasty gash," she said. "Right there.” She pointed at the back of his hand, where Ba'al had landed a hit. “I thought the constant trickle of blood would've tipped you off.”

“Oh. Lightsaber wounds don't usually bleed. I hadn’t noticed.” He lifted his hand to his face, examined it, then stuck the tip of his tongue out.

Vette watched him, horrified. “What are you - _no_. You are _not_ going to lick the blood from your wound,” she scolded. Cehirse retracted his tongue and glared at her petulantly, hand still raised. “You know kolto's a thing, right?”

“Saliva is cauterizing.”

“Yeah, if you’re an akk dog.” She tugged his hand away from his mouth. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Properly. Gross.”

* * *

"I need to speak to Monty," Cehirse told Vette. He entrusted her with the mindspear. "Entertain yourself." 

"Nah." She cocked her head and grinned at him. "I'm thinking I'm just gonna stand here, bored."

He headed into the overgrowth. Monty was more or less where they had left him, typing something into a datapad. Cehirse wasn't made for the stealthy approach, but he was able to glimpse some of the writing before the datapad powered off: " _Step 3: ????? Step 4: Profit._ " In the interest of preserving his sanity, he decided not to ask. 

Once the obligatory suspicious glances and strained courtesies were taken care of, Cehirse related the recent events to Monty, albeit leaving out Lord Grathan's death and his wife's ascension to power. The mindspear was what concerned Monty the most - specifically, that it was of greater value to the Revanites' curator than the mask of Darth Revan himself. 

"That's disturbing. An understatement, I know," Monty added, before Cehirse could open his mouth, "but it will have to suffice, because we can't do anything about it for now. Pass the mindspear to Ladra, and we'll see what happens next." 

"You don't know where this Torrun person lives?"

"I do, but he hasn't been at home for a while. He hasn't visited the compound this week, either...since receiving the mask, actually. I've sliced into his astromech droid multiple times in the past. It contained no information on Torrun or any of the other Revanites, only schematics for Darth Revan paraphernalia: his lightsaber, the  _Ebon Hawk_ , that sort of thing." Monty shook his head, bewildered. "Talk about fanboys. Will you tell Baras about this development?"

"Will you tell your superiors?" Cehirse countered.

"I have to. You don't."

Cehirse examined Monty. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing." A brazen lie. "I'm just saying, secrets are healthy in any relationship."

He couldn't discern whether Monty was joking or not. Perhaps both. "To a spy, maybe." 

"Isn't scheming part of the Sith's master and servant dynamic?" Monty argued. 

"It is," Cehirse conceded slowly, "but I respect my master, and I try not to undermine him on matters of Imperial security, at least."

"You want Baras to like you, don't you?" Monty asked, in a knowing tone. Cehirse kept his mouth clamped shut, the intensity of his glare reaching a potentially fatal level. "I can tell. I'm familiar with what it's like to seek out a father figure at the start of your adult life, but my plight was less problematic." Monty hummed thoughtfully, an annoyingly pleasant sound from such an unpleasant person. "Devotion to your beliefs or devotion to the person whom you admire...in the end, you can only pick one true master. That's a perplexing situation, isn't it?" 

"You're an asshole," Cehirse stated, having deemed eloquence as wasted on the present company he was keeping. 

"So I've heard. Anything else, my Lord?" 

Cehirse paused, then asked, "Doubtlessly dubious professional opinion aside, what's your personal take on Vette?" 

“She’s a handful, but I like her.”

Cehirse could plainly sense the truth in his answer, striking after all the lying everyone had been doing. He scowled - or, rather, scowled more than usual. “She’s stubborn, confused by an arbitrary sense of loyalty to her culture, and exceedingly difficult to manipulate.”

“Hmm.” Monty briefly gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Is that so.”

Silence. 

“I don’t appreciate whatever you’re implying,” Cehirse snapped.

“Far be it for me to imply anything in the presence of a Sith.”

"I'm nothing like her."

"I never said you are." 

"Hence the _implication_. I'm ending this conversation now."

"As you wish, my Lord." 


	10. Praxis and Poiesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cehirse begins to self-actualize. 
> 
> *smooches Forged Alliance storyline* ahahahaHAHAHAHAHA

Ladra had barely received the mindspear when she bolted off, yelling "the new initiate has passed!" as she went. The final task in Cehirse's initiation involved journeying through the jungles, answering questions posed by senior Revanites, and hopefully not getting eaten by the wildlife. There was no need to think like a Revanite. According to Raymon, there was an alternative trial, of strength. Cehirse had never met a trial he couldn't pass by bludgeoning something on the head. A physical trial, he amended, with a glance in Vette's direction. 

Unexpectedly, the first senior Revanite on the path was a Chagrian.  

"Not many aliens in the Revanites," Cehirse observed, with a hint of awkwardness. 

Morrun was unfazed. "For decades, I have served the Master. He found me when I was a larva and saw that I was strong in the Force. Against the Empire's traditions, he trained me. This is the way of Revan - to teach all species the path to power. Now you will answer a question, and you will answer well, or face the claws of my pets. Why do you think Revan trained aliens in the ways of the Sith? Why did Revan offer power to all seekers?"

"He believed everyone should have a chance to aspire to power," Cehirse replied. That was his personal answer. He waited for the claws to come out, but nothing happened. 

"Your answer is not my answer. But it is...sufficient," Morrun decided grudgingly. "It is worthy of a Revanite."

Cehirse raised an eyebrow stalk in surprise. Beside him, Vette's aura hummed with approval. Well, bugger. 

* * *

"I don't see what the big deal is," Vette said.

Cehirse was storming through tall grass like it had insulted him, too agitated to reply. His answer had been  _accepted_. If his intuition aligned with that of a group of heretics, then -

Wait.

_Not again._

"Monty, come out," Cehirse commanded.

There was the telltale sound of a stealth generator powering down. Monty appeared before him, with an obnoxious smile that wasn't quite a smirk. He was holding two earpieces in his open palm. 

"These will allow us to communicate subvocally," Monty said, entirely too cheerful. "I can follow you stealthed, help you think these questions through. If there's a possibility that you can answer the Revanites in a satisfactory manner, we may as well take it."

"Why?" Cehirse asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

"It's better this way. The Revanites prefer their initiates thoughtful and eloquent, not just able to kill things. Besides, it's faster, too." 

"All right," he agreed, largely unconvinced. 

Vette was staring at Monty's hand. "Why are there two earpieces?"

"One is for you. It'll be good to have the perspective of an outsider." 

Cehirse made an annoyed growling sound in response. Vette mimicked it with uncanny accuracy. 

The three of them walked on; the wildlife was being surprisingly unobtrusive today, so nothing worth noting happened. Vette was at the Warrior's side - keeping pace now, naturally, not trailing behind him the way she had when they'd first met - Monty padding quietly after them like a hunting jungle cat. At some point, Vette and Monty ended up making small talk, despite the fact that he'd reactivated the stealth generator. 

"I really don't get why he's upset about that first guy back there," Vette complained. "I mean, he's always kind of upset, but this is a stronger reaction than I expected." 

"Have you ever tried seeing the world from his point of view?" 

"Yeah, for two seconds. Creeped myself out. I felt like I needed a hug afterwards."

"The Sith Purebloods aren't like - for lack of non-human-centric terminology -  _us_. Their ancestors were absorbed by Dark Jedi conquerors, experimented on, interbred with scientific intent. Both groups had compatible values, but not so much that it justified the systematic erasure of a whole species. And...are you keeping up?"

Vette snorted. "Way ahead of you, buster. Their history was written for them, down to the creepy Sith letters -"

"Would you stop talking about my species as if I'm not here?" Cehirse snapped, the first words he'd spoken in ten minutes. 

"Monty's  _invisible_. I figure, if I smush you two together, you'd make one decent, normal, half-visible person. Who's purple." 

It was true that the original Sith race had been enslaved by those who had fled Tython following the Jed'aii schism. There was supposed to be poetry in their ascension - the subjugated overcoming their masters, becoming masters in themselves. After all, 'Sith' now connoted more power than merely 'Dark Jedi'. However, modern Sith Purebloods were actually a hybridization of the Kissai Sith and Force-sensitive humans, an end result of two millennia of eugenics and magic. It seemed that neither group had been totally resistant to change, in the end. The galaxy was cyclical. Empires rose and fell, the Jedi reformed and broke apart. Seasons came and went. 

Cehirse mulled this over as he walked. There were concepts which the Pureblood theoretically understood about the Empire, yet failed to grasp in application: its constant power struggles, its hypocrisy, its love of dark colours. Competition had proven to be healthy at times, but he was starting to suspect that maybe -  _just maybe_ \- you didn't need to test things to the brink of destruction in order to utilize them. 

Take that man he'd killed back at the spaceport, for instance. Cehirse hadn't even learned the human's name before sticking a lightsaber through him for staring the wrong way. Even Vette had called the man useless. But what had _made_ him that way? Such a sniveling, pathetic creature couldn't have been created by nature - something had destroyed him. Willpower was all fine and well, but if you didn't know how to stop yourself from breaking someone completely, then maybe that was _your_ fault, not the fault of the destroyed.

Vette was still talking. "Whatever they are now, they've lost their past. That's kinda why I got into hunting for Twi'lek artifacts - it's more than just stuff to sell, you know? They meant something to someone. That's what makes them valuable." 

"How quaint," Monty said.

"Screw you," Vette retorted blithely. 

* * *

Ceta Farr was a Mandalorian Revanite located midway through the Initiate's Path, near a Mandalorian encampment. The three of them conferred from their vantage point. 

"This is easy," Monty said, "Mandalorians value utility. She won't ask any deep philosophical questions. If she asks what you'll contribute to the Order, tell her that you'll defend the compound from its enemies." 

"Don't they already have a bunch of Sith standing around to do that?" Vette countered. 

"Yes, but I'm thinking she might want to test Cehirse's battle prowess by siccing him on her fellow Mandalorians." To Cehirse, Monty summarized, "Projected end result: you get to murder things, Ceta Farr is pleased, and there's a bunch of dead Mandalorians lying facedown in the mud. What's not to like?" 

"What do you have against Mandalorians?" Vette questioned. "Did one of them pick on you at sneaky bastard school or something?"

Cehirse laughed at that, then sobered quickly. "Speak your mind, Vette," he sighed. 

"Tell her you'll dig up more of Revan's artifacts," she suggested. "They like those." 

Monty interjected, "Yes, but if I know anything about Mandalorians, it's that they're Mandalorians first and whatever else second. If you put a blaster to Ceta Farr's head and asked her to choose between serving Mandalore or the Master, then she would..." Monty frowned. "She'd probably force you to shoot her. Ugh. Honour." 

"I know, right?" Vette concurred, with an exaggerated shudder. 

"I hate to admit it, but Vette has a point," Cehirse said. "I'm trying to be initiated as a Revanite, not as a Mandalorian."

Vette took a few steps back to study Cehirse's face. "Gee, boss, I'm really glad you admitted to hating to admit that." 

He scowled at her. "I'm going to clear the path," he announced, shortly. Cehirse stomped away, adding over his shoulder, " _Alone_." 

Once Cehirse had gone a good distance ahead, Monty fell into step next to Vette. "Tell me about yourself," he said, in a pleasant enough voice. 

Vette tilted her head quizzically. "Why should I?"

"I'm asking." Creep. Still, it was a long walk down, and she didn't relish the thought of spending it in silence. 

So she recounted an edited summary of her life prior to her capture on Korriban, though she spoke in such a sardonic manner that it sounded like she could very well be lying. At least Monty listened with minimal input. When she was finished, there was something on his face which she couldn't quite read. 

"This place - it does things to you," Monty said, at length. "You start to think like one of them. You see shadows where there are none. Even slaves aren't immune, such as the ones at the Unfinished Colossus. Forgive my curiosity, but it's rare to encounter someone else who was born out of the system. Well, someone who hasn't been broken yet." 

She fought the urge to shiver. "Tell me the Empire isn't getting to me. And don't say 'yet'. Jerk." 

"I don't think it is. You could have sold Cehirse out, but you didn't. Revenge probably doesn't even cross your mind. You don't wish to take from your oppressors what has been taken from you, do you?" She made a face and shook her head. "It's an admirable view. Not a very realistic one." 

Vette shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a dreamer." 

"Then I hope you never wake up. " Monty paused, apparently making a great effort to sound like a healthy individual with feelings. "I knew someone like you a very long time ago, and I let her down. Make no mistake, I'm not going to go out of my way to ensure your survival - but I do hope that you don't succumb to the Empire's nature." 

"Why?" First Raelen, now Monty. Everyone in the Empire ignored her except the occasional individual.  "You don't give this speech to everyone, right? Why me?" 

"Because you, personally, deserve to have a choice. If freedom is a commodity, then the handful of people like you should have first priority." 

Vette was silent for a moment, then said, "Everyone deserves to have a choice." 

* * *

Cehirse sensed that Ceta Farr wasn't enthused about his answer, but she readily accepted it nonetheless. He was free to move on the next Revanite without having to veer off the path in order to fight. 

Mandalorians intrigued Cehirse, and he respected them on the whole, but he wouldn't even begin to consider adopting their philosophy. Something about them had seemed...off, lately. There were many Mandalorian-wannabes throughout the galaxy, especially in Imperial and Hutt space, due to public fascination with the Mandalorian Wars and their role in the Great Galactic War. Fantasy had warped reality. Based on what he knew of galactic history, Mandalorian society worked very well when you wrote it down, but in practice it was significantly more complicated than just living by a code.

...Like the Sith. Hmm. 

Anyway, there was no glory in war for the sake of war. Not anymore. In fact, showing restraint was starting to have its appeal; the satisfaction of coercing Tumar and Slestak into giving up had been imprinted in his mind far stronger than butchering slaves at Baras' behest. 

Bowing to those who bested you - now, _that_ was a novel concept. 

* * *

The sky was darkening. Throughout the jungle, rain drummed against leaves in a steady beat.

"What is freedom, really?" Monty posited.

Vette wrinkled her nose. " _Don't_." Too late. 

"Freedom can be defined as many things," Cehirse answered, "including the state of not being imprisoned, the lack of predetermination, or possessing the power to act as you wish. It can be an ends, a means, or both. The Sith code never specified." Anyone else would have found this sort of conversation grating, especially while trekking through a jungle, but Cehirse was usually grateful whenever he was treated as an intelligent being, not some mindless thug. 

Monty continued, "Must the pursuit of personal freedom always be in direct conflict with someone else's?" 

"Are you  _trying_ to get me killed?" Vette griped. 

Traditional Sith wisdom said yes, that was how you knew that your liberty was real, that you could enjoy it with a clear conscience, because you earned it. Anything worth having had to be hard to attain; anything hard to attain had to be worth having. Once again, Cehirse had no personal experiences to base that belief upon - he had never _wanted_ anything badly enough to fight for it. Since he'd been born into one of the highest tiers of the Empire's hierarchy, he'd never had to claw his way up through sheer strength alone. The adversaries he'd faced, like Vemrin and Dri'kill Baal, had been ineffective challengers instead of true obstacles. 

"Not always," Cehirse said. "Everyone is already free to a certain degree." Vette raised a painted eyebrow. "Even a sl - a  _prisoner_ is able to choose how to react to their imprisonment. The power of consciousness transcends material confines." It would have been tolerable had he left it there, but he had the audacity to conclude, "Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."

Vette halted in her tracks. "Bantha. Shit. You're already in a position of power - you don't get to make that distinction. You don't get to tell a bunch of Twi'lek kids that freedom's just a state of mind when there're collars around their necks." 

He took a steadying breath. Getting upset like last time would make him sound less credible. "Maybe I shouldn't have worded it that way. I didn't mean to imply that there's no need to struggle for freedom, only that there's a basest form of freedom which everyone possesses. What you choose to do with your free will is how you attain physical freedom." 

"But having a choice doesn't mean you're free," she argued, "'cause if you, say, got captured by some cannibal and they asked you what sauce you'd like to be eaten in, you're still pretty un-free." 

"All right," Cehirse conceded, "so maybe material freedom is more - "

It then dawned upon both of them that they'd stopped walking at some point. They were standing in a clearing as they spoke, getting drenched by the rain. Monty briefly deactivated his stealth generator, which revealed that he was a sizable distance ahead of them. 

"No, please, continue," he said sarcastically, "I'm getting off on this." 

* * *

The last senior Revanite on the path was Major Pathel, an officer in the Imperial military. The Major had an unusually friendly disposition; he even allowed Cehirse some time to think before answering his question. 

Cehirse's earpiece crackled. "Guile," Monty decided. "Say you'll work in the shadows. Imperials lap that up, Revanite or not." 

"If an idea is really good, it should survive on its own merit," Vette objected. She cast a glance in the direction she thought Monty was waiting. "I bet the Major would appreciate the thought." 

As Cehirse returned to Pathel, he pondered the day's events. The more time he spent on the heart of the Empire, the less he felt like a normal Sith. Was this really the life he would have picked, if he had been given the choice? Yes, he assured himself, out of reflex - then he immediately realised that he had no way of knowing that, since he'd never known any different. Maybe personal freedom wasn't as straightforward as he'd assumed. It was an uncomfortable thought. He would have to confront it at some point. 

Major Pathel beamed at him expectantly. He was an Imperial patriot, someone who believed that he was being loyal to the Empire even as he risked his life over following a perversion of its core values. The strange thing was that he made it seem perfectly fine. 

"We prove that we're right," Cehirse said. 

* * *

The Master had been revealed - or so it had seemed. 

Tari Darkspanner had formerly been a promising Sith acolyte. She and Cehirse had met in passing before. According to her, she'd learned of Revan during her training on Korriban, then devoted her life to his teachings. She believed that the Emperor and Revan were one and the same, and that the Dark Council was intentionally silencing him. Then, she had expressed her faith in Cehirse's devotion to the Order. 

"Talk about one cuckoo short of a nest," Vette said dismissively, once Cehirse had finished relaying what he'd learned to Monty. Cehirse was inclined to agree. 

Monty's face darkened. "You know, it's beginning to appear likely that the Master didn't actually form the Revanites herself."

Cehirse nodded. "I imagine not. Darkspanner is only ten years older than me, and she's never been very ambitious. She couldn't have amassed such a dedicated Imperial following without help. Come to think of it," he added slowly, "that statue in the Revanite cave didn't just manifest overnight. Neither did this compound. Something else is at work here." 

"The loyalty-to-the-Master gimmick could be a cover for something else," Vette suggested. "You know, to throw Intelligence off the scent." 

"It's possible. That would make them quite smart, for cultists," Monty said. "We have two options. We can follow the original plan: detain Darkspanner in the hopes that she's the cult's one and only leader, causing the Order to fall apart at the seams. Or..." Monty pursed his lips. "Now that we know who to watch, we can continue monitoring their activities. Maybe we'll find out what they're really playing at." 

Neither sounded terribly appealing to Cehirse. "What's your professional opinion as an Intelligence agent?"

"Respond with overwhelming force," Monty replied, voice cold and sharp. "If there's a larger conspiracy waiting to reveal itself, deal with it separately. Capture Darkspanner and the senior Revanites, interrogate them, carry out public executions if you think they need to be made examples of. Show no leniency. Remind the Empire's citizens that subversive thinking cannot stand."

"And as a Chiss Ascendancy agent?"

"Wait, and adapt to the situation as it develops. Don't attack unless you know exactly what you're getting into. Don't turn them into martyrs, don't goad them into a violent response. Be firm, but be fair. Bear in mind that this type of situation suggests an underlying societal problem." 

"Personal opinion?" Vette prompted.

"Oh, I don't give those," Monty said flippantly. 

Cehirse considered their options. Condemning enemies to death had been easy so far. But what had these Revanites done to him, or anyone, for that matter? There were corrupt Sith who were far more harmful. He didn't care much for stamping out heresy, so long as heresy didn't pose a threat to his lifestyle. Logically, what would he gain from their deaths? 

"There are quite a few high-ranking individuals in the Revanites," Cehirse realised. "Even if we keep it silent, surely at least some people will notice. There could be a fallout if we move so soon after the _Dominator_..." 

Monty watched him, face blank. "Your call." 

"No advice wrapped in a thin layer of patronizing rhetoric?" Cehirse demanded. 

"I'm giving you a taste of total power, of control over how a tense situation goes. _Responsibility._ It's not as fun as the other Sith make it out to be, is it?" 

Blast it. 

"I suppose...we should wait before acting," Cehirse managed. Vette nearly toppled over in shock. "Their heresy is too minor to waste resources on. There's no need to raze the compound to the ground just yet. You will inform your superiors of the Revanites' acquisition of the mindspear, and you will continue to monitor their activities - but you will not tell them about Tari Darkspanner. If you disobey me, I will reveal your true allegiance, and the consequences will be dire. Is that clear?" 

Monty flashed him a crooked grin. "Very good, my Lord." 

"Huh. Colour me surprised," Vette said. 

* * *

While Cehirse said his obligatory goodbyes to the cultists (for good, he hoped), Vette waited with Monty outside the compound. They sat cross-legged on the grass, watching birds weave through the overgrowth. 

"Your master has surprised me," he said. To Vette's brief alarm, when she turned to look at him, a sly smile spread across Monty's face. "I daresay we're wearing him down."

"Is that what we were doing?" 

"Maybe." 

"Hey. You're ultra annoying - seriously,  _wow,_ I thought I was obnoxious, then you come along and take the cake - but you're also the first person I've met on this rock to speak to me directly. It's nice. Sure, you're probably trying to get something out of me, but I almost appreciate that you even think I'm worth screwing over.  _Almost_." 

"That's the nicest thing anyone has said about me in years. Take care of yourself, alright?" 

Cehirse was returning. Vette stood, brushing rainwater off her lap as she went. "I always do." 

* * *

Right before he and Vette departed for Kaas City, Cehirse and Monty shook hands awkwardly. 

Cehirse inclined his head back towards the compound. "I wouldn't want to be stuck watching this lot," he said. 

"That's what people like me are for. Best of luck, my Lord." As he released his hand, Monty leaned in and whispered, "Vette's lucky to have you."

He squinted at Mony. "I don't follow."

"No, you don't. Much. You question. You'll grow. That's why she's lucky to have you." Monty snapped his fingers in Cehirse's face. "Try to pay attention." 

Cehirse Force-choked him for two seconds before losing interest. 


	11. Signs and Signifiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My update speed is snail-like. As in, a literal snail sliming its way around a keyboard, hitting one key at a time. Also, I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter, but at least we're FINALLY LEAVING DROMUND KAAS UGH
> 
> Here, [have a couple of excerpts from future chapters](http://sharkie.co.vu/post/100922944571/shock-therapy-wip-excerpts) as an apology. And thanks for reading!

Darth Baras greeted their triumphant return with a Force-enhanced scream of rage.

"I cannot break him!" Baras shouted, referring to the Republic prisoner. He didn't turn around to address his apprentice. 

"Nice lungs you've got there," Cehirse murmured.

"Mind your tongue, apprentice, or I will  _CUT IT OUT_."

"Okay, I'm officially scared," Vette said. 

The human strapped to the interrogation table looked thoroughly beaten, yet his eyes remained glittering with defiance. Cehirse felt a twinge of admiration, which was quickly drowned out by the sound of Baras' infuriated voice. 

"This is impossible," Baras complained. "An unknown power must be shielding this man, which only confirms my suspicions. This Republic agent is the key to unlocking the threat we face - I must harness my rage and frustration. They will lead me to an answer."

"Trust your feelings, Master," Cehirse said. 

Baras laughed, which made Vette jump. "The minion advises the master. Very good, you demonstrate your progress. You also showed admirable initiative in dealing with the Revanite cult - yes, I heard." Baras began pacing back and forth again. Cehirse practically glowed with pride. "And word has spread that Lord Grathan is incensed at the slaying of his secret son. I take it that was your handiwork." 

"After dealing with his son, I stayed to 'socialize' with Lady Grathan," Cehirse lied, "an added humiliation for him." Vette discreetly facepalmed. 

"Ah, my young apprentice, you have just cheered me up. I haven't heard from Dri'kill Ba'al. He's missed a scheduled communication. Let me guess: he gave you trouble, did he?"

"He gave me no trouble at all." 

Baras laughed again. "I can sense the truth behind your words, apprentice. Ba'al can be replaced. Now, back to my prisoner. There's one last possibility to break him," Baras said, loud enough for the man to hear. The prisoner struggled against his bonds, for what little good it would do. "I thought it impossible, but perhaps there's a small chance you could pull it off."

Darth Baras walked away from the interrogation area, motioning for his apprentice to come with him. Cehirse nodded for Vette to follow.

Baras led them to a large table, atop which a full holo-image of Kaas City was projected in detail. The farthest quadrant of the city, however, was tinted bright red; from within the unfinished quadrant, the Dark Temple towered above everything else. 

Baras explained, "Over a millennium past, the Emperor claimed Dromund Kaas and made the Dark Temple the epicenter of dark Force energy. In the bowels -" At the word 'bowels', Vette had to stifle a giggle "- of the Temple, he conducted horrifying experiments that drained the knowledge and life essence from all the greatest Sith Lords of the time." 

"He destroyed his own Lords? Even the ones who weren't plotting against him?" Cehirse wondered. That seemed rather counterproductive to him. 

"They existed to serve their master - and that they did. He siphoned them to make himself immortal and all-knowing. The Emperor created a device called 'the Ravager' that ate his victims' minds and delivered to him their greatest secrets. No one could withstand the Ravager's intrusion - even the strongest Sith Lords of the Empire confessed whatever the Emperor craved." 

Cehirse could easily see where this was going. "You want me to retrieve this Ravager for you?" 

"There's a good chance the horrors that await you will be too severe. But it's worth your life to me."

"And just when you two were getting along," Vette quipped. 

* * *

The way to the Dark Temple had mostly been cleared since the  _Dominator_ 's destruction. There were still Force-confused or possessed workers shambling onto the footpaths, but there weren't enough of them to pose any real threat. 

As soon as they set foot in the main chamber, Vette briefly felt overwhelmed by a crushing sense of dread. 

"There's a dark presence here," Cehirse said.

"I'm blue," Vette replied. He glanced at her quizzically. She shrugged. "Sorry, I thought we were stating the painfully obvious." 

The walls were whispering. The floor was oozing viscous liquid. When Vette blinked, it was gone.  

They made their way up the crumbling, winding staircases, into the mezzanine. Foremen were being beaten by archaeologists. Slaves still wearing shock collars were Force-choking Sith Lords. There was a poetic irony somewhere here, but Vette was too creeped out to really dwell on it. 

Within an hour, they had reached the correct room without much incident or biting exchanges. Cehirse took a moment to survey their surroundings. Strewn around the floor were corpses in varying states of decay, seemingly killed in different ways. The Ravager was supposed to be located in a reliquary at the other end of the room. He started to make a beeline for it. 

Vette stopped him. "You can't just waltz up and grab it."

Cehirse bristled, pulling his hand free from her surprisingly, interestingly strong grip. "Yes, I can."

"Nooooo, you can't. Ordinarily, I'm careful in any ruin I get into. Sith sites are the actual  _worst_. If there's a bunch of ghosts possessing people outside, and dark swirly vortexes of doomy-doom in here, what kind of thing do you think is gonna bite you when you shove your hand in like it's a damn mail slot?"

"Do you seriously think that the Emperor would resort to booby traps?"

"Heh. You said 'traps.' And yeah, seriously." 

"Vette, I'm Sith."

"Sith, I'm a  _treasure-hunter_. If I've got one use, this is it." 

"You have such lofty life goals."

Vette brushed past him. She removed a pouch full of pebbles from one of her pockets. "You can insult me all you want once I figure out what the traps are." 

"We don't even know that there's a -" She tossed a pebble onto an uneven floor panel, and three different sets of spikes suddenly shot out from sections of the ground, walls, and ceiling. "Oh." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Surely there can't be much more than this," Cehirse began. 

Vette flung another, heavier pebble a few inches further than the first. On cue, a small barrier of purple flames materialized in front of the reliquary, burned for a minute, then abruptly vanished. 

Cehirse was dumbfounded. "Is this going to take some time?" 

"Yup. And these are just the pressure plates. Wait till you get to the treasure itself. Where did you think all these corpses came from, anyway?"

"Each other? The number one cause of death for Sith in the Empire is other Sith."

Vette narrowed her eyes. "Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke about your own people?" No reply. "Wow. This Temple really is messing with your head, isn't it?" 

It took a full hour, but Vette was able to weave her way to the reliquary. As it turned out, only two components of the Ravager were left inside, along with what appeared to be the Ravager's primitive charging station - it was a setback, but Cehirse wasn't too upset, figuring that whoever had taken them couldn't have gotten very far. 

"Guess a few lucky bastards made it through the traps after all," Vette deduced. "I bet they were also witty, dashing Twi'leks."

"Or resourceful slaves who used their fellows' corpses as shields," Cehirse suggested flatly. 

"Ah, that's more like the grump I know." 

* * *

Two hours later, they had most of the components from possessed workers around that floor of the Temple. Vette reassembled the Ravager as they walked, trusting that Cehirse would at least have the decency to kill anyone she bumped into. Then, they discovered that the entrance to the reliquary chamber was blocked by a group of humans who looked half-dead. 

"It was foolish of you to return here," their leader said. 

"Uh-oh," Vette muttered, "looks like we got another fight on our hands."

"Those pieces you took from my minions belong to me!" the man shouted. "They will enable me to exact my revenge on Lord Pharshol and Darth Andru!"

Vette let out a flat, "What."

"I am Lord Vacuus, the conqueror of Begeren, the killer of Garatak the Singed! Return what you have stolen, or burn!"

Cehirse peered at Vacuus closely; the man was dressed as an ordinary excavator, dirt on his face, a pickaxe still holstered on his belt. "You don't look like a Sith to me," the Pureblood observed. 

"Perhaps your vision will improve in death!" 

Cehirse didn't have time to point out the inadequacy of that pre-battle statement. The man unleashed a barrage of Force lightning from both hands, which Cehirse managed to block with his lightsaber, using the technique Raelen had taught him back on Korriban. The other humans attempted to flank him; Vette downed two of them with shots to the head. As the men fell, wisps left their bodies. 

Vacuus' vessel was dispatched with relative ease once his minions had been dealt with. While Cehirse was otherwise occupied with searching the bodies for the remaining components, Vette noticed something gleaming on the ground. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a sapphire. She was wary of picking up shiny objects just lying around, especially in the Dark Temple, but it was humming in a comforting way, and it was warm to the touch. She looked around - force of habit - and pocketed it. 

* * *

Back at the Citadel, they wasted no time in getting to business. Vette retrieved the completed Ravager from her pack and handed it to Cehirse, who held it out to Darth Baras. Baras snatched it and immediately strode over to the prisoner. 

"You're wasting your time," the prisoner gasped, "I will not -"

Baras placed the device over the prisoner's head. The Ravager clamped onto his scalp like a vice. It immediately activated, corrupting the surrounding air with whorls of dark energy, Vette shielded her eyes and backed away; Cehirse watched her, now feeling uncomfortable for some reason - not quite sick, but certainly not well. He studied the prisoner's pained movements with a fascination more morbid than clinical. 

"Yes," Baras hissed, "the Ravager has seized his mind. Excellent! In his condition, we don't have long before the ordeal liquefies all brain matter." 

"Maybe he'll last longer if you reduce the pain," Cehirse proposed, keeping the urgency out of his voice. 

"The pain drives the device's effectiveness," Baras replied, too transfixed to scold his apprentice for showing weakness. "Republic worm, you have the information I desire. Tell me everything."

Through broken sentences, the prisoner revealed that they were a Strategic Information Service member assigned to investigate potential Imperial spies. The SIS had been acting on information provided by a Jedi Master named Nomen Karr. 

Upon hearing this, Darth Baras' whole figure shook with fury. Cehirse and Vette exchanged a glance.

"Nomen Karr," Baras repeated, "That's a name I grow tired of hearing."

"One of your enemies, I take it?" Cehirse guessed. 

"My oldest and most hated enemy," Baras confirmed, "An old wound that continues to fester. Nomen Karr is a Jedi Master who infiltrated the Sith. I rooted him out, then he nearly destroyed me, and fled. He's dedicated himself to proving that the Sith have spies embedded within Republic and Jedi ranks. I've thwarted him at every turn, but he is tenacious. How did Nomen Karr come to suspect my spy on Nar Shaddaa? Tell me, Republic wretch, what alerted him?"

"Master Karr has a new Padawan," the prisoner answered. "She seems to know any being's true nature. She senses hidden darkness and untapped purity."

"Astonishing," Baras murmured. "I've never heard of the Force granting such a gift. How does her power work?"

The prisoner choked out between laboured breaths, "All I know is that when Master Karr brought her to Nar Shaddaa, this Padawan sensed darkness within your spy simply by seeing him."

"If this young Padawan can see through deception and disguise with such little effort, she threatens everything I have worked for. Continue, Republic dog." 

The prisoner added that Nomen Karr believed that his Padawan's ability was foolproof, but the Jedi Council was skeptical. The prisoner had been ready to present their findings to the Council as evidence, but he had been captured by Baras' men before he could make his report. 

"Such a threat must not wander the galaxy unchecked," Baras said. "Who is this Padawan, you Republic pest? Tell me everything you know about her!"

She had been found on Alderaan; her power had first emerged while training on Tatooine; acting on her advice, the Jedi had sent another agent to investigate a suspected spy on Balmorra. The prisoner's face had totally drained of colour now, body convulsing harder than those of the typical victims of Force lightning.

"He's fading," Baras declared, panic in his voice as he demanded, "Is she human, or one of the Jedi's cursed aliens?" At this, Vette coughed loudly. Neither Cehirse or Baras paid her attention, absorbed in the prisoner as they were. "Where can I find her? What is her name?"

"I have no-nothing." The prisoner's body seized up. He fell silent, mouth agape, muscles still tense. Baras was left grasping at thin air. 

"The Ravager has emptied his mind," he declared solemnly. "That is all we have to go on: a few random places within the greater galaxy where Nomen Karr and his Padawan have been." 

"It's a start, Master," Cehirse assured him. "That device did the trick."

"You are correct. We now have leads to follow." 

Darth Baras led them into the back room of his office. He picked up a datapad, punching at the buttons as he spoke. "Nomen Karr is a relentless crusader, and this Padawan and her unprecedented power threaten everything I have achieved." Baras set the datapad down. "Your duties are likely to take you to the far reaches of the galaxy. I will need to deploy you at will. You shall have a ship of your own - you've earned it. Go to my hanger in the spaceport and claim it." 

Cehirse bowed briefly. "Right away, Master." 

Darth Baras nodded once in acknowledgement, then they left him.

Before exiting the main office, Cehirse stopped by the interrogation area. The prisoner was either dead or permanently comatose. Cehirse stepped closer, though he scarcely knew why. 

"Odd, isn't it?" he asked himself. 

Vette cringed. " _Yeahokaylet'sgo_. Please. Before your boss makes me clean this up."

"I won't let him. Just give me a moment." 

Cehirse continued staring at the man. The expression on the human's face wasn't the determined defiance he'd displayed throughout most of the torture. It was twisted in fear, bruised badly, covered in scorch marks...

“It’s - wrong," he finally said, "like there’s something heavy and crooked inside my chest, almost painfully so. It feels worse than anything we encountered in the Dark Temple." 

“Yeah? That’s called pity.” Vette glanced at the man’s mangled body, and gagged at the sight. “Or possibly revulsion." 

Cehirse shook his head. “Impossible. I don’t feel such things.”

“How do you know it isn’t either or both of those, if you’ve never felt them before?” she countered. She replied for him, before he could, in as deep of a voice as she could muster, “I’m Sith! I know all! Graaah.”

Cehirse fixed her with a withering glare, disconcerting emotions forgotten for now. "I don't say 'graaah'."

"The 'graaah' is implied." 

"Remind me never to examine my personal values around you ever again." 

* * *

Upon entering the docking bay, Vette broke into a run. From the picture window, they could see that the ship was a brand new  _Fury_ -class Imperial interceptor. It was a fairly common vessel in the Empire nowadays, valued for its combat capabilities and sleek design. Vette wolf-whistled at the sight. 

"You actually like it?" Cehirse questioned. 

"Sure. It's very...angular. Other ships are gonna get hurt if they bump into it."

"I don't know much about starships," he admitted.

"I can teach you." 

Before they could enter the ship, they were accosted by a Sith from Lord Grathan's estate. The Sith came bearing a gift from Lady Grathan, and an assassination attempt on Beelzlit's behalf. Cehirse was beginning to see a trend here. He filed away the idea of force-feeding Beelzlit's his own entrails for the next time he was on Dromund Kaas. 

* * *

The ship's factotum droid insisted on giving Cehirse a tour of the interior. When they were finished, Vette intercepted him on his way to the cockpit, hands planted on her hips. 

“Hey, I just thought of something," she said, "What’re you gonna name it?”

“Must I?" Cehirse protested wearily. "It’s a ship. Knowing my life, it’ll probably get blown up at some point.”

“You’ve gotta give it a name. Isn’t that, like, a docking requirement?”

“‘The’.”

“What?”

“The ship’s name is The.” Cehirse gestured dismissively. “Run along and amuse yourself, Vette.”

“...I’m gonna name the ship for you.”

“You will _not_ name the ship for me.” He attempted a mind trick again. As predicted, it did the Force-equivalent of pinging off Vette, and she looked deeply unimpressed at his hand-waving, but it was worth a shot.

“I’ll run a couple by you, later, then probably pick your least favourite.”

“Droid!” Cehirse called. “How quickly can you vent the airlock?”

“Very funny.” Vette rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna go take a nap first. Wake me when it's time for the  _Halcon_  to take off. That’s a hawk-falcon,” she added, when he began to object. “I’m still thinking of an adjective.”

“How about ‘collared’?" Cehirse suggested, with biting sarcasm. "The ‘ _Collared Halcon_ ’ has a certain ring to it, similar to, say, the ‘ _Collared Twi’lek_ ’.”

“ _Very funny_. Next time, I'll let the dark spirits eat you." 


	12. Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me nearly six months to drop this brick joke.

It was the beginning of the ship’s morning cycle when Cehirse unceremoniously dropped a canister on the table in front of a groggy Vette. The container was opaque, but it sounded full, making a _clang_ upon impact. She fixed him with a questioning look.

“Blue milk. Drink,” he instructed impatiently.

Vette took a moment to register what he'd said before making a disgusted expression and pushing the canister away.

“Am I hallucinating right now?” she demanded. Cehirse wordlessly pushed the canister back to its original spot, not breaking eye contact as he did. Vette leaned back, squinted, and framed his face with her fingers. “Nah. No hallucination could capture that abject rage so well.”

“Do as I command.”

“Mmhm.” Vette sniffed at the milk with visible disdain. “This isn’t even fresh, is it?”

“No, Vette,” Cehirse answered dryly, “it’s from that bantha we have in the medbay.”

“Ha, that's ridiculous! Like you'd know which end the milk comes from. I bet you haven’t even seen a live bantha before.” Vette gaped at his glaring. “Wait, seriously? Not even calves at a petting zoo for little Sithlings or whatever?" 

“There were many animals on Ziost,” Cehirse replied indignantly, “such as...akk dogs.”

Vette processed this new information for a second. Then, she repeated, “I’m not drinking the milk.”

“Yes, you are,” Cehirse insisted.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re going to die of a calcium deficiency.”

“I really, really doubt that.”

“Do it to humour me.”

“‘No’ means ‘no’, boss.” In apparent response, Cehirse seated himself across Vette, took out his personal datapad, and began typing. His eyebrow stalks were furrowed in concentration; Vette craned her head to watch. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Checking the dictionary definition.”

Vette threw her hands up in exasperation, almost toppling the milk. “You’re impossible.”

He recoiled defensively. “It just seems like lazy tautology to define a word as itself.”

“Don’t nitpick my life lessons! Speaking of life lessons, why are you being so pushy about this?”

"I don't know. Frankly, I thought you'd be flattered that I give the faintest hint of a damn about your wellbeing. Call it soft paternalism." 

“I bet your mom always told you to take good care of your belongings, huh?” she snapped, the pointedness in her voice catching him off-guard. 

Cehirse blinked at her with genuine surprise. “That hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

Vette briefly stuck her tongue out. “Yeah. Guess you feel real bad now.”

They sat in hostile silence for a full minute. The engine hummed in the background; normally unobtrusive, now unbearably loud against the stark quiet. 

Vette suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide. "Hey, have you ever heard of Nok Drayen?" she asked, seemingly out of nowhere. "Pirate? Terrified the criminal world for a few decades? Pretty badass moustache?"

It took minimal effort for Cehirse to recall the extensive lessons he'd had growing up. "He destroyed the Rath Cartel and the Vandelhelm Combine in some giant power grab," he recited. "Same guy?"

"Yeah, same guy," Vette confirmed. She shook her head, which made her lekku sway to and fro in a near-hypnotic fashion. "Weird to think of him that way. Nok Drayen was the most famous killer in the galaxy -"

" - I have a few dozen Sith ancestors who might disagree - "

"- but he set me free." Seeing Cehirse's bewildered look, Vette explained, "I was still slaving it up for Three Eyes when he crossed Nok. Or maybe he just had something Nok wanted. I never did ask. Too late now." 

Cehirse could guess where this was going. Lovingly descriptive violence was, after all, a top priority in Sith history lessons. "Did any of the gang survive the encounter?"

"You mean anyone that wasn't owned as property?" She eased into her seat with a small, grimly satisfied smirk. "No, they did not. I'm still not sure how Nok got his speeders into the camp. One minute they weren't there - " She spread her arms in an expansive gesture. "- Then they were."

"That's typically how ambushes work, yes."

"He was ruthless, but not a thug, you know? Sort of a...pirate prince. Freed all the slaves and told them they could join up or go their own way."

Cehirse knew that such an action was likely taken out of cunning, not pure altruism. There weren't many places for a newly-released slave without resources to go, and that was doubly true for slaves who'd never known freedom. Giving the illusion of choice was one of the most cruel - and effective - ways to assert dominance, as he was beginning to see in the Sith Empire.

Instead of voicing this opinion, he said, "To truly lead and inspire fear, people must see that you are in control."

Vette was nodding along. "That was Nok - cool as the belly of an ice lizard. I should know. One of those fell on my head once. Anyway, I was the smallest on the crew, and mining had taught me to fit in tight spaces. Nok's crew showed me how to steal."

"What sort of stealing? Pickpocketing, fraud, HoloNet piracy?" 

Vette let out a small laugh. "A bit of everything, I guess. For a long time, I didn't feel bad about stealing." She stared down at where she'd rested her folded hands on the table; Cehirse sensed pinpricks of shame spiking her aura. "So much had been taken from me."

He tilted his head in thought. "Even the small action of taking gave you control over your life. That is everything." 

"It was still wrong. It's not like I was stealing from the same people who'd actually hurt me." 

"But if you had a choice, would you enslave those who have owned you?"

"Ick. No. They all had horrible work ethic. Er, excluding you, of course."

“Then that makes you better than them - you have greater will, to not resort to their level." Vette eyed him skeptically, but for once, she was too tired to argue. "Not that I’m complaining, but what brought on this bout of reminiscing ?”

She shrugged. “Nok always kept track of his crew’s diets, kept nagging at us to eat better. He was kinda a control freak like that.”

Cehirse’s head snapped upright. “Are you calling me a control freak?”

“Noooo, because control freaks actually control stuff. You aren’t great at that.”

Standing, Vette nodded at the glass of milk with an overwhelming sense of triumph.

“See you when we're about to land!” she chirped.

Cehirse glowered at her retreating form as he poured the milk into the sink.

* * *

Balmorra was not a pretty planet. By the time it had entered the atmosphere, the as-yet-unnamed ship's shields had nearly been depleted by radiation and passing through the crossfires of multiple dogfights. With some of Vette's gentle nudging, the ship dove into a bumpy landing, coming to a taxi within the Sobrik spaceport. 

"How's your vertigo?" she asked Cehirse sarcastically. 

Cehirse wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. "You actually remember what I say?"

"Don't really have a choice. You do realise that back on Dromund Kaas, the only people who spoke to me were you and the weird Chiss guy. I was going nuts. By the way, the droid might've learned a dozen or so new Huttese swear words."

Darth Baras' contact on Balmorra was a Lieutenant named Malavai Quinn. The Lieutenant was stationed in a nondescript building at the heart of Sobrik, one of the many corporate offices appropriated by the Empire to house their invading forces. As soon as Cehirse and Vette entered, they were greeted by the sight of a Corporal trembling in his boots as he spoke to a human whom Cehirse assumed was Quinn. 

" - Sir, I apologize, sir. It was the best I could do - "

"If that's your best, you're useless to me." Lieutenant Quinn lunged forward and grabbed the Corporal by the collar. Their faces were inches away now, the Lieutenant's blue eyes bright with anger. "I can shoot you dead with a clear conscience. Is that what you want?" 

"Holy nerf nuggets," Vette murmured. "Well, I can see why Baras likes this guy." 

"That does seem a bit over-the-top," Cehirse commented. 

The Corporal stammered another apology before being curtly dismissed by Quinn, who quickly turned to his guests. 

"I apologize for the delay, my Lord," Quinn said, standing at attention and bending into a brisk bow. He spoke with a quiet intensity, each syllable enunciated with a hint of sharpness. "Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. I'm to be your liaison here on Balmorra." 

Cehirse nodded awkwardly and, following a minor pause, said, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Vette started at his formal tone and shot him a bemused glance. 

"And to you, my Lord. Lord Baras will brief you personally, but I'm to acquaint you with the climate here on Balmorra first." 

Quinn gave him a quick overview on the ongoing Balmorran war before calling Darth Baras on a secure channel. 

"Quinn owes his career to me," Baras explained, "but I should keep the details of your mission between the two of us." 

"What am I, chopped ronto?" Vette complained. 

Darth Baras explained the current situation regarding Nomen Karr's Padawan: Baras' intelligence was still working to pinpoint the Jedi's location, so in the meantime, Cehirse was to find and neutralize the Imperials spies suspected by Karr's Padawan. One of the spies was on Balmorra, in deep cover as Commander Rylon of the Republic military. The Jedi had sent an investigator to the planet, so it was necessary to cover their tracks before any confrontation could occur. Cehirse's first task was to destroy evidence that Rylon had sabotaged Balmorra's defense systems. 

* * *

The charge had been armed and detonated without a hitch. Over Cehirse's personal holocom, Quinn suggested that they return to Sobrik, where Darth Baras could be contacted in private. However, Resistance members had apparently mobilized in a short span of time and were launching an attack on the city's fortifications; it wouldn't be enough to breach the walls, but it was a nuisance nevertheless. 

Fighting as a pair was becoming natural to them. In fact, they were becoming complacent. Vette in particular had grown used to arrogant Sith completely ignoring her as they engaged Cehirse, so it came as somewhat of a surprise when a resistance fighter went around the battlefield and sneaked up to her cover spot. She only realised it when she heard the click of a finger about to squeeze a blaster trigger.  

Vette spun on her heel and fired on reflex, managing to disarm her attacker. She didn't plan on the resistance fighter charging her and trying to wrestle her into a headlock; one of her blasters was knocked out of her hand in the process, and now it was difficult to aim the other. When a lucky stray shot grazed the back of her opponent's neck, something dropped to the ground and started beeping. Vette immediately recognised the sound of an activated thermal grenade. 

“Little help here!” she shouted. 

“Vette!” Cehirse shouted. He leaped to her location, severed the arm restraining her, and Force-pushed her out of the way…

...as the grenade exploded.

After being thrown from the blast radius, it took Vette a few seconds to regain her bearings. But as she was about to stand, someone pulled her aside hard enough to make her shoulder ache. Before she could react, a pair of arms locked around her waist and held her in place. 

"It's me," a familiar voice said, as she struggled. 

Vette froze. "What the blazes are you doing here?" 

Raelen stepped into her field of vision, followed closely by Khem Val. "Saving you. You're welcome!" 

"Uh, if you two are there, who's holding me back right now?"

"You can let her go," Raelen said.  

"If you say so," a different voice said, this one without an Imperial accent.

Upon being released, Vette whirled around and saw that she'd been restrained by a Rattataki woman wearing the coolest fedora she'd ever laid eyes on; a human girl was next to the Rattataki, injecting her with a shot of kolto, which the woman didn't seem to notice. "So, bag 'em and tag 'em?"

"You haven't even killed anything yet," Raelen replied irritably. 

"It's just a thing she says," the human girl sighed. 

"What are you waiting for?" Vette exclaimed, gesturing frantically. "Get out there and save him!" The abrupt movement made her aware of the searing pain down her right arm. "Ow!" 

"Oh, Cehirse is okay," Raelen assured her. "Maybe unconscious and bleeding profusely, but okay." 

"You Sith have a terrible definition of 'okay'," Vette protested. 

"I can feel it in the Force. Besides, he kind of deserved it. We saw the whole thing. Why jump to your location _and then_  push you out of the way? Why not stay where he was and push either you or the grenade? Good intent. Awful response," Raelen concluded.

"Not to be a downer," the Rattataki interrupted, "but maybe, just  _maybe_ , we shouldn't be having this conversation in a war zone." 

"Fine." Raelen gestured at the human girl. "Mako, be a dear and patch my friend up. We'll be back soon. Hopefully." 

Vette slumped back to the ground as most of her rescuers returned to the battle. The human girl knelt by her side, medical tools at the ready.

"Hi. I'm Mako," the girl said, in what Vette placed as a genuinely friendly tone. "Professional bounty hunter, amateur medic." 

"Vette. Amateur archaeologist, damn good thief. On paper, I'm a slave, though I'm not clear on that part anymore." Mako smiled, then ducked her head as she smoothed a layer of kolto over Vette's injured arm. "Dare I ask why you're with Raelen?"

"Long story short, we joined up back in the spaceport. It's a temporary arrangement."

"What does a Sith apprentice need with two bounty hunters? No offense." 

"None taken. She's hard-hitting, but she's not exactly built for the amount of power she generates. Plus, she's kinda afraid Khem's going to eat her." 

"He does look hungry," Vette said, trying to ignore what felt like a cold stone weighing down the inside of her chest. As Mako worked, she dimly wondered what would happen to her if Cehirse died. He had no next of kin - that she knew of - and a prominent Sith like Baras would hardly remember her existence. She could slip away, join up with Raelen for a while, or try to track down her old gang, leave Sith space entirely and never look back. Or she could do both. Yet somehow, the faint possibility of freedom lost a fraction of its appeal in the outskirts of a war-torn world, in the aftermath of what might have been an act of selflessness. 

* * *

Raelen saw to it that Cehirse was brought to a medcenter in Sobrik. Vojja - that was the name of the Rattataki, Vette had learned - clapped Vette on the back as they waited. 

"We're gonna have a girls' night!" Vojja declared. Mako cleared her throat and nudged her companion with her elbow. "A girls'-and-one-Dashade night," she amended, with an exaggerated diplomatic air. 

Here Vette was, stuck on a backwater planet embroiled in a war. Her boss was out of commission for now, what with the explosion-to-the-face - karking rebels and their badly-assembled bootleg grenades. The Empire’s mere presence seemed to inject an ominous atmosphere into the immediate area. There was nothing to see in the city of Sobrik, unless military armaments were your sort of thing, and they definitely weren’t hers.

"Sure," she agreed. 

That was how she found herself in a local cantina called the Sunken Sarlacc, sandwiched between Raelen and Mako as the group began to take turns relating their recent adventures to each other. 

When Vette got to the Revanites, Raelen seemed to finally snap into total focus, though she made no mention of her membership. “I can’t quite explain the Revanite cave in a way which a non-Force sensitive would understand. It serves as a sort of wound in the Force, a concentration of light side energy amidst the darkness of Dromund Kaas. It amplifies loss. It tends to make one introspective, prompts some self-examination.” Raelen leaned forward, lips quirked in amusement. "In a narrative sense, it's a bloody cop-out." 

"Speaking of bloody, I found this on the floor in the Dark Temple, near some guy named Lord Vacuus." Vette reached into her pocket and deposited the sapphire onto the table; Vojja let out a low whistling sound. "He shot lightning out of his hands. It was very exciting." 

"It's pretty and all," Mako said, "but random gems don't usually just lie around in haunted tombs waiting to be picked up."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Vette said. "Any ideas, anyone? Is it cursed? 'Cause that would explain a lot. Although not  _that_ much, seeing as I'm not the one stuck in a kolto tank." 

"This was near a man claiming to be Lord Vacuus?" Raelen repeated. Vette nodded. "Hmm. Then it's possibly a fragment of the Ankarres Sapphire, also known as the Antares Crystal."

"Here she goes," Vojja groaned. Mako nudged her again. 

"It's supposed to possess healing powers," Raelen continued. "When he was lethally poisoned by his daughter, Darth Andru had his apprentices scour the galaxy for it. They brought it to him right as he was being ceremonially prepared for burial, but when he touched it, it burned his skin, and he died anyway. Apparently, the crystal can only be held by those who belong to the light."

"Soooooo, I'm not a homicidal maniac," Vette deadpanned. "Good to know."

Raelen shrugged. "It could just be a silly legend. Andru really should have invested in doctors instead." 

* * *

Cehirse regained consciousness several hours after he'd lost it. The first thing he saw was Vette kneeling by his bedside, wringing her hands. She bolted upright when their eyes met. 

“Hey,” she managed to squeak. "Uh. Hi. My Lord. You okay?” Vette laughed nervously before he could reply. “Wow, silly question. I mean, I guess you could be worse, all things considered. You should see the other guy, by the way. Or don’t. He’s kinda particles now.” She gulped. “Thank you, for...that. You saved my life.”

“It’s okay, Vette,” he said. He winced when he tried to turn his head. “When can we get back to our mission?”

“Just a couple of days left till you can be discharged. Quinn already knows. It's...gonna take a while for me to to explain everything that happened while you were out." Coincidentally, at that moment, a series of distant explosions sounded from outside the city perimeters. 

Cehirse paid it little attention. “Any permanent damage?” 

“Uh, mid-to long-term. You might have to wear a respirator in battle for a while. Nothing major, but you should be careful. And there’s some facial scarring on one side, though not as bad as that Moff back on the Talon.” She handed him a compact mirror. “Personally, I think it looks pretty cool. Not that my opinion matters much at this point.”

“It isn’t bad,” Cehirse concluded with a hint of approval, upon examining his reflection. Sith Purebloods did take pride in earning scars in battle, and these weren't obtrusive: there were three long lines running diagonally across his right eye, adding another degree of severity to his usual threatening expression. “I’m surprised. It felt like half of my face was being ripped off.”

Vette appeared inordinately guilty. “Thanks, again,” she whispered. “I owe you one. Or, you know, a hundred.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Really! I’m not strong like you are. I wouldn’t have survived that.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he agreed wholeheartedly.

Vette fell back on her haunches, painted eyebrows raised. “Well. That moment of bonding just sailed right past us.”

“The thermal grenade sort of did go boom,” Cehirse said, after a few contemplative seconds of silence. “Not exactly, but close. It wasn’t like a falling missile.”

“Explosions sound different when you’re in the middle.”

“Perhaps. I’m letting you get blown up next time, so you can check.”

“You’d miss me,” Vette teased. And he was loathe to admit it, but she was probably more right than she could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a follow-up oneshot about the Noodle Incidents that took place. Eventually.


End file.
